


Kill Your Darlings

by onthepageoftears



Series: Kill Your Darlings [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), The Witcher (TV) RPF, Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Assassination Attempt(s), Assassination Plot(s), Assassins & Hitmen, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn, Torture, Violence, bloo - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:35:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 56,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22995568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onthepageoftears/pseuds/onthepageoftears
Summary: Y/N, a skilled assassin, gets their newly assigned target.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/You, Jaskier | Dandelion & Reader, Jaskier | Dandelion & You, Jaskier | Dandelion/Reader, Jaskier | Dandelion/You
Series: Kill Your Darlings [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1652641
Comments: 115
Kudos: 292





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first full-on series for Witcher, or anything else for that matter. I will be posting a chapter every Friday to both my Tumblr (@onthepageoftears) and here! I am still new to ao3 so I apologize if there are any mistakes with tagging warnings etc, but if there are please let me know so I can fix them!

Taverns were one of your least favorite places to meet. The stench of the unfortunate man’s breath wafted through the air, on top of the lingering odor of cheap alcohol. Men staggered around with their mouths wide open, yelling obscenities — women pulled down their dresses just enough to gain attention, glaring at anyone who passed. Everyone was way too loud, as if the sound of their slurred words were more valued over anyone else’s.

Your hood hung low over your head, just high enough to leave space for you to see. Your eyes immediately scanned the tavern — it was smaller than the usual ones you met at, but just as packed. The stuffiness of the room practically smacked you in the face as soon as you walked in, almost making you scrunch your nose. The smell was way worse than you remembered.

You kept your face stiff as your eyes stopped at a table near the back. Without a second thought, you made your way past the piles of people and towards the familiar head of hair you would recognize in a mass of a hundred people.

“I see you still have an impeccable taste for meeting places.” Your voice caused him to look up just as you sat across from him, removing the hood that covered most of your face.

“You know I do.” Rauf smiled proudly despite your obvious sarcasm. He gestured to the full cup of ale that was already in front of you. “A drink?”

You shook your head, “Not tonight.”

“Come on, Y/N. It’s just like old times.” Rauf was right. The length of the walls, wood of the tables, even the stench of the ale in your cup. It reminded you of the many nights you and Rauf would retreat to the taverns after training. A hard day’s work requires a hard day’s ale. It was what he said when he treated you to your first, and definitely not last, drink. You were pretty sure he just wanted an excuse to get drunk — which, you wouldn’t blame him for. Your line of work was never easy, not even for a veteran like him.

You picked up the drink with a sigh. “What’s the occasion?”

“Can’t I just want to have a drink with my favorite niece?”

“Only niece. And not by blood.” You reminded him every time, but it didn’t stop him from saying it.

Rauf was a family friend, always had been. You called him uncle, even when you were old enough to understand he had no relation to your family’s bloodline. Growing up, he was a common visitor at your parents’ home, frequently coming for a chat over some dinner. He would ruffle your hair on his way out, send you a wink every time. You always loved his visits, because it was the only time your parents stopped fighting; in those times, you felt like you had a normal, happy, family. Now, Rauf was the only one of your family that you had left.

You shook the memory from your mind and put the cup down. “You have a new target?”

Rauf was busy watching a woman drunkenly dance to the poor excuse of music, but he responded nonetheless. “When do I not?” He turned back to his own cup and chugged it down. After he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, he looked at you. “People are shitty, Y/N, always have been.”

“My point exactly.” You tapped the table beneath you, trying to keep your patience. Sometimes, it was hard for you to imagine Rauf running an assassin’s guild. He was responsible, sure, but in front of you, he acted like any other man in the tavern. In this case, that meant being almost unable to tear his eyes from beautiful women. There was always a charm about him, though, like the charisma of a well-respected bard — without the annoying craving for attention. He was messy looking, but in a good way, and his smile was infectious. At a single glance, you wouldn’t think he has killed people.

You took another sip of your ale, though it didn’t taste like much of anything.

Rauf turned his gaze back to you, a playful smile on his lips. “Maybe you should learn to dance. Perform, act. You used to always put on plays for me as a youngster.”

“I’m acting right now.” You faked a smile when he quirked his brow. “Like I don’t want to kill you.”

Rauf leaned back, his smile growing wider. “We both know you don’t kill innocent men.”

“You call yourself innocent?”

“Point taken.” He signaled the server to bring another round, eyes almost immediately trailing back to the dancing woman.

It was your job to assassinate those deserving, but you really felt like bending the rules right now. Rauf could be distracted, but tonight he was especially so. You clenched your jaw, urging your own patience to hold out a little longer.

It was understandable why Rauf would want some time off from talking about the job. As Rauf mentioned the last time you spoke, business was, to put it lightly, booming. He had been giving out more assignments than usual — our work finally paid off, he told you. It was quite exciting, to be honest. After years of working alongside Rauf and his trusted team, you all hoped the guild would reach a wider range of people in need. 

After all, your guild was different than most; rather than be paid to kill anyone, Rauf made sure there was an unjust act committed by the targeted party. Abuse, rape, murder, any of the likes. You were vigilantes, in a way — though even the most well-known assassins of your guild wouldn’t call themselves that. You all knew you were killing — it just helped you sleep at night to know the ones who were being killed weren’t…undeserving of the death.

The rise in work was great, but also taxing on Rauf. Even just looking at him now, you could see the weight he was holding on his back. His eyes were more tired, overworked. Of course, he would never admit to it, and neither would you. Complaining leads to laziness. It was one of his many scoldings throughout your training. 

So, Rauf needing a break from his work made sense. It just made you antsy knowing there were more people out there committing heinous acts — more people you needed to terminate.

The server returned with two new cups of alcohol. As Rauf continued to watch the woman dance her troubles away, you tapped your finger on the table, shifted in your seat, fought yourself from rolling your eyes, and finally cleared your throat. You spent enough time waiting around. “Rauf.”

“Hm?” He only slightly turned to you.

You let out a frustrated sigh before answering, “The target.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Finally, his attention was brought back to the task at hand. You straightened your back, readying yourself for your next assignment.

Rauf’s eyes searched your own. Finally, he spoke.“He’s a loud mouth—“

You rolled your eyes. “My favorite.”

“I wasn’t finished.” He took a big gulp from his cup and set it back on the table. “A bard.”

“Even better.” You followed his actions and chugged the rest of your drink, putting it back without so much of a blink. “What’d he do?”

Rauf’s mouth twitched. The sarcasm was spilling from his expression before he even spoke. “You’re gonna love this.”

“I bet.” You had to hold yourself back from leaning forward in anticipation.

Rauf pursed his lips. Then, he let out a quick breath. “Raped. A bunch of women.”

You quirked a brow. “A bunch?”

“Twelve. So far.”

You shook your head. “Not ‘so far’. Just twelve. There won’t be anymore.”

“Not after you’re done with him.”

“Damn right.” You settled back in your seat, anger already filling your veins. If not for your years of training with Rauf, the anger you felt would overwhelm you, cause you to be irrational and slam your fist into whoever’s face was closest. But now, you learned to contain that anger and use it on your targets. And boy, did you use it.

A thought entered your mind, but you bit your tongue for a few seconds. As Rauf lifted his cup once more, you tried to sound casual. “Who put down the money?”

He rolled his eyes. “You know that’s anonymous.”

“Of course,” You shrugged. “But if it was one of the victims, I hope you gave them a reasonable price.”

Rauf studied you for a moment. “It wasn’t a victim. It was a… family friend of the victim.” You narrowed your eyes at him until he groaned. “Yes, I gave them a discount.”

“Good.” You leaned back with satisfaction. Now that that was out of the way, you needed to figure out the details of the target. “This target got a name?”

Rauf tapped the edge of his cup with a finger. “Julian Alfred Pankratz. Goes by Jaskier. Not quite famous, but well-known enough.”

Your eyes glazed over with near boredom. “I haven’t heard of him.”

“You haven’t heard of anyone. Well, I suppose that’s partially my fault.”

You ignored his comment. He often tried to guilt himself for not teaching you more about things other than training, fighting, killing. No matter how many times you told him you didn’t mind, he brought it up anyway. Besides, you didn’t think you wanted to know of this bard, especially after what he’s done.

“Where is the target located?”

“He was in Oxenfurt two weeks ago, at the time of the most recent…incident. Payer said he’s now in Novigrad.”

“Not far.”

A comfortable silence fell between you two, allowing the noise of the tavern to fill in the gap. You noticed Rauf eye the same woman who had been dancing practically all night. This time, you allowed your eyes to make their way to her as well. She was so carefree, seemingly impossible to tire. There was so much life in her, but you wondered what she went home to. An empty house or a full one? An abusive husband or a loving partner? A loved child or one she wished she never had? These people, they each had their own lives that lead to either pain, anger, or devastation. Each and every person would have their own life, their own struggles, their own sins. Some of them wouldn’t even realize it, or care.

You shifted your attention back to the nearly full cup in front of you. You picked it up and swirled the liquid around before bringing it to your lips. Before every assignment, you felt the same nerves as you did now. It was a mix of eagerness and hesitation. In this case, you wanted to get the son of a bitch bard, no matter what it took. But an assassination in a city like Novigrad, for a somewhat popular bard? It would be tough, that was for sure.

Rauf must have noticed your clouded eyes, as he nodded his head towards you. “You think you can handle this?”

Despite the underlying nerves, your lips curved upward and you quirked a challenging brow towards him. Within a second Rauf nodded with a similar smile, silently understanding the uselessness of his question. Of course you could handle it. It would be tough, yeah, but the job was always tough. You were trained by the best, after all.

Rauf lifted his cup and spoke with the rim to his lips, “Meet me at the Novigrad guild when you’re done. You have the usual time to finish it.”

You took one last sip of your drink, then stood from the chair as you lifted your hood over your head, “See you soon, Uncle Rauf.”

After a single nod from him, you left the tavern and descended into the darkness, ready to eliminate your next target.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N finds out that not every assignment goes as expected…

It didn’t take long for you to make it to the city; the paths were sparse and you happened to only run into one group of Nekkers and a couple of bandits on the way there. Soon, you found yourself standing in the middle of Hierarch Square, scanning the notice board for any sign of your target.

It was late at night, but the torches in the streets lit the city up just enough for you. The square was far from empty despite the time of night; drunks stumbled along and beggars huddled under whatever they could to get some sleep. You supposed cities were meant to always be lively — but this liveliness was far from happy. It was a dark and dreary place, especially at night, when the only thing to guide you was the dim glow of the torches and the sound of whispers in the darkness.

Your eyes glazed over the notice board. It was littered with pleas for killing monsters, finding lost persons — you would keep those in mind for later. For now, your eyes only yearned for something, anything, that would lead you to your target.

Luckily, tucked in the top left corner of the notice board was a particularly bright flier. You reached up and pulled it out from underneath a missing person’s poster — your skin itched to pick that up as well, but you shook off the feeling. Rauf would want you to finish your assignment as soon as possible, no matter what.

The flier was a mess of colors and advertisement material that you didn’t care about. The first thing you saw was ‘Jaskier’ in big giant letters; then, a sketch of what you assumed to be him. You snorted at the smolder your target bore — perhaps he posed like that to make himself feel more handsome, more important. Your eyes focused on the bottom of the page. It had the date of the performance, the time, but most importantly, the place.

Kingfisher Inn. You folded up the paper and placed it in your pocket — it didn’t matter when the bard performed, only where he did it. Bards tended to stick around their venues for a while, in hopes the innkeeper would ask them to perform another night. They also tended to mooch off of their free stay there, for as long as they could.

You stepped away from the notice board and headed in the direction of the Inn. You had only been to Novigrad a couple times before, but you had to become pretty familiar with the streets. As an assassin, knowing the ins and outs of different cities was almost mandatory. Tracking a target and losing them just because you didn’t know where the hell you were was more embarrassing than it was a setback.

Thankfully, you didn’t have to wander around the streets of Novigrad too long, since the Kingfisher Inn was relatively close. You rounded a corner and just missed tripping over a passed out man — you were close to the inn, alright. And soon, the sound of unrestrained cheers echoed from the large building in front of you.

The first step of securing your target was to scope the building out. You first noted the lack of guards as you stepped into the inn, then the vastness of the space. It had a good crowd, with around twenty people sitting just on the main floor. You had seen crowds like this before, but what really struck you was the quality of the inn. It was probably one of the nicest taverns you had ever gone into; there was a proper stage where bards would perform, along with a separate somewhat higher section with even more tables. The ceilings were taller than you had ever seen, with balconies that looked over on other floors. The stage itself had large red curtains draping along the outside, with candelabras lit on both corners.

The crowd looked like they were anticipating a performance, so you tried to make your way to the second level of the inn as quickly as possible. You walked up the stairs to the somewhat higher floor and found a table in perfect view of both the stage and the rest of the tavern. As you sat down, a poster on the wall next to you caught your eye. It was the same one crumpled up in your pocket, only bigger.

“Can I get you something, dear?” The server brought your attention away from the poster.

“Um, yeah.” You tried to make your voice hold utmost enthusiasm; though you didn’t want to drink on the job, scoping out a location meant looking as natural as possible. And in a tavern, looking natural meant getting seemingly shit faced. “I’ll have a Viziman Champion. Please.”

You tried not to think of the cost of your drink as the server walked away. The pay for your jobs was usually a good amount, but it didn’t come too often. Rauf had a whole guild of assassins to deal out assignments too, and he was especially conscious of the favoritism he could show you. So, when you didn’t get assignments from him, you did some side work that people posted on their notice boards; some like the missing persons cases, others for help around farms, etc. It wasn’t a glorious amount of work, but it held you over until Rauf contacted you for another target.

“Your drink.” The server placed the drink in front of you with a smile. She gestured to the poster on the wall next to you. “Here for the show?”

You watched her from under your hood. “Yes. He any good?”

“Jaskier?” She giggled a bit, then frowned when she realized you weren’t joking. “Yes. Why, he’s one of the best around. I mean, just look at the crowd.”

“Hm.” You glanced to your left; the crowd grew twice as big since you sat down — it must have been getting closer to the performance time. You turned your gaze back to the server and leaned forward, bringing your voice just above a whisper. “I would…keep a distance from him if I were you.”

Her eyes widened in slight fear, but soon returned to a playful glint. “Ah, right. The charm of celebrity bards. I hear they’re quite handsy.”

You breathed in sharply, then sighed. “You could say that.”

The server smiled at you once more before leaving to tend to other patrons. You made a mental note to watch out for her the rest of the night, just in case she got too close to the target. The bard probably preyed on his fans, making her especially vulnerable.

In cases like these, it was important to stick to the basics of your training. Watch from a distance. Keep a low profile. Attack when the time is right. These cases usually went the same; you watched the person in their unwarranted glory, waited until they thought they were safe and alone, then attacked. The job was done quickly, quietly, with little to no issue. Patience was one of the biggest factors of the job — that, and ruthlessness. But you would have time for that later.

You were tentatively sipping your drink when a loud cheering erupted from around you. Your eyes searched the crowd, looking for the man you kept on your mind since you got this assignment. It was the sound of a lute that brought your attention back to the stage, simultaneously bringing the crowd to a low murmur of excitement. Then, a man stepped out from the side and walked to center stage.

In almost a second, you knew it was him. He wasn’t sporting the famous smoldering expression, but he had the same hair that was brushed to one side; and, even though you were relatively far from the stage, you noticed his eyes were more lively than either of the fliers showed you. He seemed…harmless.

But your mind quickly pushed that away as he started strumming his instrument. Men could easily falsify a sensitive, caring exterior. You had seen it many times with your own eyes; some men liked to be seen as kind, but behind closed doors they were monsters. Others were monsters through and through. There were cases of both, and each time, you felt the same amount of satisfaction when you got to watch them die.

You watched your target’s mannerisms through his performance. Smiling at the crowd, sending a wink to particularly beautiful women. It made your stomach rumble with anger, so much so that you finished your drink before the first song was over. For the duration of his performance, you ran a finger over the dagger you kept up your sleeve — it was a reminder of the assignment, of the reputation you needed to uphold during this mission.

Your eyes never left your target during the performance. Not when he jumped down from the stage to interact with certain audience members, or when he took a break to drink some ale. You didn’t even look away when he would casually look up towards your section of the tavern, sometimes seemingly right at you. It didn’t matter if he suspected something suspicious — so long as he didn’t bring it up to anyone else. But even if you couldn’t keep your stealth, you would finish your job, no matter who got in your way. The bard could hire a mass of professional guards and you would kill him before the sun rose.

The end of the performance could not have come quicker. You grit your teeth as soon as the crowd erupted in cries and cheers of joy; you clenched a fist as the bard bowed with a bright smile. Rauf would be disappointed at your lack of emotional control.

Save it for the kill, Y/N. You closed your eyes and bit your tongue to try and contain your anger, at least for the time being. Right now, what was important was following your target’s every move.

Your stomach dropped when you looked back to the stage — it was empty, with no sign of your target. Shit. You sat up from your spot and craned your neck, searching for the bard in the crowd of people. Instead, you saw drunk after drunk, no bard in sight.

“Looking for someone?”

Your head snapped to the person standing on the opposite side of your table. Your eyes widened slightly, just for a moment. Never, in your years of work, had a target come to you.

The bard placed his lute on the table and sat on the bench across from you, his eyes still sparkling from the performance he had given. You blinked for a moment, trying to compose yourself. This was not apart of the plan. This was never apart of the plan. You took a deep breath and leaned back against the wall behind you.

You must always be in control of the situation. One wrong move and you’re the one being killed. Or worse — made a fool of.

“Rating, from one to five. Go.”

You blinked slowly at your target. “Excuse me?”

“Rate my performance. I know you have an opinion — no one sits in the best spot of the tavern just to ‘enjoy a beverage’.”

You grit your teeth at his eagerness. He was more annoying than you could ever imagine. “Two.”

He leaned forward, waiting for you to speak. When you didn’t, he scoffed. “What, a number like that and I don’t even get a sentence explanation?”

“I’ve seen better performances from bards on the streets.”

“Okay. Ouch.” Your target turned his head just in time to catch the server from before. She was already blushing by the time she walked over to the table.

“Oh. Um. Hi! How can I help?” You narrowed your eyes at the bard, waiting for him to make a wrong move. One sharp turn, one wrong comment — you would jab him in the neck right in front of the crowd if you had to.

“I’ll have the usual. And you?” He turned to you, once again waiting for a response. You didn’t give it. He turned back to the server. “Your finest mead will do fine.”

The bard looked like he might speak again until another cheer from the crowd cut him off. He turned to look at the stage, where a group of bards had started another set. While he was distracted, you scanned his features. Your impressions of him from before were right; you noticed, as he turned to face you once again, that his eyes were a stark blue, matching the blue of his doublet. They would be mesmerizing if you didn’t have the compelling urge to stab him in the jaw.

“You look like you don’t belong here.” He said it matter-of-factly, only clicking his tongue when your eyebrows raised at his forwardness. “I mean it as a compliment. Beautiful people, such as ourselves, have no business in a city like this.”

“And why is that?”

“Novigrad is great, don’t get me wrong. But the people…” He jutted his head towards the crowd behind him, the crowd that was just calling his name and admiring his talent. “They can be quite sad.”

Your mouth twitched slightly at his ignorance. “You don’t say?”

“Cities are full of people searching for something more than what they have. But the real adventure, the real thrills — are out there.” He gestured in the air towards who knows what. “Besides, all cities are a bit dingy.”

The server returned to place the drinks in front of you, not failing to blush as she smiled at the bard.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and thumbed the handle of the knife that was positioned just inside your right sleeve. Though you didn’t expect your target to come to you, it could work in your favor. But, if you wanted to get the job done with a relative amount of stealth, you had to isolate the bard and make sure no one noticed him leave. The second part was already done; the people were too busy downing their drinks to worry about the likes of him — especially since the new bards were filling the tavern with upbeat music. You decided to swallow your pride and pull out the charm.

“Do you have a room here, bard?”

He nearly choked on his drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before answering, “Do—do I? Yes, I have a room. Why—exactly, would you like to know?”

“You say this city is dingy.” You leaned forward, making more deliberate eye contact from underneath your hood. “I’m just wondering if your room is.”

The Bard’s eyes lit up, his mouth slightly ajar. He quickly closed it, composing any confidence he had left. “We could…finish our drinks first—“

“I would rather we didn’t.” It wasn’t a lie — though, you weren’t opposed to lying in favor of the greater good.

He nodded and stood from the bench, picking up his lute before giving a slight bow. “Right. Follow me.”

You followed after him, making sure no one paid you any attention. The server from before was distracted as she cleaned up a mess on the floor, and everyone else had their eyes glued to the stage. Everything was going smoothly as the two of you walked up the stairs to the next floor, where you assumed the rooms were located.

The bard kept looking back at you, sending you nervous smiles. Something about his demeanor made you question his past actions — but only for a second.

Your target led you to a room at the end of the hall; he spoke over his shoulder, “I have a…friend, he was here before, but he left. I’m only telling you because he is quite messy, so that’s why there are clothes everywhere — and, here we are.”

He held open the door for you, gesturing for you to go inside. You blinked at him until he gave in and walked inside himself. For the few seconds you stood in the doorway, you admired the similar vastness of this room to the main tavern — there was a very large bed, a nice table with nearly full bottles of alcohol on top, and a large dresser he didn’t seem to be using. But you shook the admiration away, instead walking into the room and closing the door behind you.

When you turned back around, the bard was pouring yet another drink at the table. You took a few tentative steps towards him, making sure he didn’t turn around.

He was putting the cap back on the bottle as you slid the knife out of your sleeve, and in one swift motion gripped the handle.

You let out a slow, yet sharp breath. For the twelve. Letting the anger finally fill your veins, you held the knife so the blade lined up with the length of your arm. The more fire that crackled in your fingertips, the more you wanted to get this kill over with.

For the twelve.

You lifted the blade and took your last step towards the target, holding it so you could plunge it in the side of his neck. He cluelessly hummed to himself and continued to drink from his cup.

For the twelve, you recited in your head, then pulled back your arm a bit, and, with one brisk movement, you stabbed him in the neck.

Except, you didn’t.

You frowned as you looked up to your wrist, where it was stuck midair. It took you a second too long to realize someone’s hand had stopped your wrist; it was a tight grip — a very tight grip — and just as you were about to react, the hand pushed your wrist towards you with so much strength that you couldn’t even push back. The sharp pain of your own knife being sunken into your shoulder made you cry out — but then, another pain erupted in your skull, turning everything to darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N never knew a bard could be so much trouble.

When you woke up, all you felt was pain.

The first thing you noticed was the pounding in your head. It was so strong that you had to keep your head down, too afraid to even make a move. Your breath was staggered, each breath in making your mouth feel drier than it already was. It was only when you tried to shift yourself that you realized your arms were trapped behind your back — that, and the sharp pain that erupted from your shoulder.

You gritted your teeth to hold back a scream. You had no recollection of how you got here. The last thing you remembered was seeing your target on stage…the drinks he ordered…going to his room…lifting your knife to kill him, then—

Oh, shit.

Despite your previous failed attempt, you tried to wriggle yourself out of the bonds. The chair beneath you groaned at your attempts; you grunted as a wave of nauseousness nearly made you pass out — or maybe it did. You couldn’t tell.

“I wouldn’t try that if I were you.”

The voice made you freeze. You lifted your head slowly, trying to ignore the aches that followed your actions. A bulky man was leaning against the wall across from you, his arms crossed over his chest. Your eyesight wavered — the room felt like it was being flipped on its side, so you squeezed your eyes shut.

“Speak.” You heard the voice again — gruff, angry. If you had to take an educated guess, this was the man that stabbed you and knocked you over the head. It would be a miracle if there wasn’t a bruise.

You ignored the man’s words and instead focused on the ties around your wrists. From what you could tell, they were well done. This man definitely had experience in tying people up — from where, you didn’t want to know.

At the sound of silence, you opened your eyes again. This time, your vision was more steady, though not perfect. When your eyes focused, you noticed the man was gone. Your stomach dropped, and by the time you twisted your neck to see where he went, you realized he was right behind you.

“Fuck!” His fingers dug into the knife wound he gave you earlier; the sudden pain seared through your shoulder and all the way down your side.

You dropped your head as the man’s fingers left your wound, your nails digging into the skin of your palms. You’ve felt similar pain before, but no matter the amount, pain was pain. In the moment it hurt like a bitch — after, it would feel like a distant nightmare.

If you thought your senses were getting better before, they just took ten steps back. Your vision was clouded, eyes nearly glossed over with held back tears. You tried to listen to the voices around you as you continued to claw into your own skin — the pain simultaneously made you weak, but kept you awake.

Your eyes grew heavier, but you kept them trained on your lap. Right now, your main focus was to escape. You would deal with the pain later. You continued to work on the bonds that held your wrists behind your back while trying to focus your senses. The voices around you, though they felt distant, were clear enough for you to understand.

“Now, Geralt—“

“Jaskier, not now.”

Jaskier. Your target. You leaned forward in the chair, trying to focus on what they were saying.

“Maybe if you gave a second for them to answer—“

“Let me deal with this.”

The heavy footsteps nearly echoed around you — the sound rumbled in your bones until you could see a pair of two large shoes standing right in front of you.

Your head was ripped back by your hair.

“Who sent you here?” Now, you could see a bit better. You blinked up at the man with the white hair — white hair. ‘Geralt’. The name was familiar. It was murmured around the guild, spoken of from village to village. Oh, shit. This was a witcher. The witcher.

You decided on a smile.

“Nice to meet you, too, witcher.”

The witcher sneered in disgust. “You will tell me who sent you here.”

“And why would I do that?”

“If you don’t, I’ll show you one of my swords.” It was supposed to be a threat, but your smile widened.

“Tell me, would that be the one for man or for monster?”

He didn’t find that as funny as you did. He tugged your head further back and in an instant, you felt a slight pressure on your neck. You peeked down at the small knife that was pressed to your skin and let out a snort.

“I hate to break it to you, witcher, but that is no sword.”

“Shall we test it out, assassin?”

You almost questioned how he knew you were an assassin before the knife grazed your neck, causing you to wince. As the blood trickled down your skin, you squeezed your eyes shut.

“Now hold on a moment!” Surprisingly, the pressure of the knife left your neck. You let your head lean forward slightly as the witcher turned towards your target, simultaneously releasing your hair from his grip.

“What.”

“Just—” The bard looked to you, then the witcher. “Let them speak.”

“Why?”

“This must be some big misunderstanding.”

“Would you be saying that if I hadn’t stopped them from killing you?” The witcher and the bard glared at each other for a couple seconds. Then, the white-haired one stood back and held the knife out. “You want to talk to them? Be my guest.”

Your eyes were glued to the knife as your target took it tentatively in his hands. He nodded at the witcher and turned towards you, a nervous smile filling his features. You clenched your jaw.

As you continued to grab at the bonds, the bard knelt down in front of you, his eyes glancing over your wounds. He placed the knife on the ground beside himself and reached for a cup on the table beside you. His eyebrows raised as he pointed it towards you — water. You leaned forward subconsciously, aching to rid your mouth of the taste of blood.

“Here.” The bard put the cup to your lips and gently tilted it up — you let the liquid fill your mouth, swooshed it around, then swallowed. You drank some more until the cup was empty, and you felt a little better.

The bard licked his lips and leaned forward with a light voice. “Why are you here?”

You looked at the man’s face. It was soft, much softer than the witchers. His stark blue eyes looked into your own with curiosity, wonder. You frowned; evil men had a funny way of working. They could be kind — charismatic, even — but in the snap of a twig they were worse than the hounds of hell.

Despite this, you smiled at him. He smiled back.

And then you spit the water in his face.

“Oh — Oh, oh god.”

“You retched pile of absolute scum.” You spit in his direction even though he was across the room by now. He leaned over with his hands on his knees, wiping what he could off with his sleeve and putting on a show of an overdramatic gagging session; then, he turned to you with his mouth agape.

“Okay, you know what? Geralt, do your thing.”

You had to work fast if you wanted to get out of here. You had no chance against a witcher — even you knew that — but you could still finish your assignment. All you needed to do was get out of the bonds and distract for as long as you could.

You turned your gaze to the witcher, adrenaline finally filling your veins. “You—you’re working with him? And I thought Witchers were supposed to be valiant. Men of some kind of integrity.” The binds were just loose enough as the witcher handed your target a cloth to dry his face. “We’re not so different. We choose to kill those who threaten the defenseless. The monsters.”

The taller man rolled his eyes. “Assassins don’t choose to kill anything. They do it for the coin.”

“Do witchers not?”

He sent you a glare and turned to his bag of weapons — unfortunate for him, the ties were just loose enough for your wrists to slip through. As quick as you could, you grabbed the knife the bard left on the floor. With one giant step out of the chair, you snatched the bard by his back collar and hugged him to your chest. By the time the witcher turned around, your knife was comfortably at his friends’ throat.

“Geralt—“

He shut up once you put the knife closer. Your heart was pounding louder than your head now — the look on the witcher’s face made your stomach drop. You knew that as soon as you killed this excuse of a man, your life would be ended as well. It was a funny thing —you never thought that in the face of death you would feel fear. But right now, you donned it a miracle that your hands weren’t shaking.

You continued to grip the bard’s shoulder as the knife was held to his throat. “Before I kill this bastard, tell me, Witcher. What is a nobleman such as yourself doing with a serial rapist?”

Though you didn’t think Witcher’s showed emotion, this one visibly frowned.

You felt the bard’s body rumble against yours as he spoke, “A—excuse me, did you say a rapist?”

“Jaskier is a lot of things.” The witcher said, “Loud mouth, coward, idiot—rapist is not one of them.”

You gritted your teeth. “A dozen women say otherwise.”

“A dozen…what?” The bard’s voice quivered under your knife. “I assure you, I am not the man you are looking for.”

You scoffed. “Any man with a knife to his throat would say the same thing.”

“No, any innocent man with a knife to his throat.” He shifted under your grip. “Geralt?”

Geralt’s eyes were softened now. Instead of the angry, murderous expression he once held, he was now reaching a hand toward you, his voice somehow soothing. “You said it yourself. A witcher is someone of honor, truth.” He pointed to the bard. “This is not the man you are looking for. I don’t think you would want to live with the death of an innocent man on your hands.”

“You don’t know what I can live with.” Despite your words, you loosened your grip slightly.

Geralt held his hands up in surrender. “I can help you find who you are looking for, but he—” He pointed to the man in your grip. “Is not it.”

You stuck your bottom lip out in consideration. Though you didn’t know the man in front of you, something told you he was telling the truth. He was a witcher, after all, and you’ve heard the stories about him and his often hidden integrity. But Rauf’s voice echoed in your brain. Trust no one. You didn’t know this man, only heard the stories. He could be bluffing, could be trying to cover his own arse. But if he wasn’t…you could be killing an innocent bard.

You held your target’s shoulder tighter in your grip. “Bard. Where were you two weeks ago.”

“Um—“ He gulped, then shook his head as if he was trying to remember. He was taking too long. You held him tighter. “Okay, okay! Um…I was doing a terrible gig at the Lindenvale Tavern. In Velen.”

You frowned. Rauf said the last incident happened in Oxenfurt.

“Velen? You’re lying.”

“He’s not.” The witcher looked back at you. “I met him there. We traveled here together.”

You clenched your jaw. “Do you have proof?”

“A poster!” The bard exclaimed from your grip. “There is a poster in my bag. Geralt!”

The witcher looked to you for approval. You nodded, watching his every move just in case he tried anything. He went to the bard’s bag and rummaged through it, pulling out a large piece of parchment and making his way back towards you.

“Stay there!” You held the knife tighter as the witcher tried to come closer, causing him to stop in his tracks. He instead held out the poster for you to see.

You squinted at the poster, trying to ignore that pounding that returned to your head. Your vision was getting blurrier, but you could see it was the same design as the others: serious smolder, bright letters — only this one had ‘Lindenvale Tavern’ written at the bottom.

You blinked a couple times, making sure the writing was correct. The date even said the time he was supposed to be in Oxenfurt. Could Rauf’s source have lied? What if they just got the location wrong? No, that’s nearly impossible. No one would forget the location of a trauma like that. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to gather your thoughts. It was getting harder as the pounding in your head grew worse and worse.

You took a sharp breath in. If you released the bard, there was no doubt that the witcher would kill you in an instant. At this moment, though, death didn’t seem all that bad. Really, all you wanted was to close your eyes and never wake up.

“If you’re lying,” you whispered into the bard’s ear with your eyes still closed, “I will haunt you with every last amount of power I have.”

“Oh, god—“

“I assure you, he is not.” You opened your eyes at the witcher’s words — he was watching you just as carefully as you watched him before, only his eyes, surprisingly, weren’t as deadly.

You took a deep breath. “Fine.” Against your better judgment, you removed the knife from the bard’s throat and pushed him out of your grasp. He stumbled over to the witcher and gripped at the small cut on his neck, gasping for dear life.

You held onto the knife with your last bit of strength, and in spite of the dizziness that clouded your brain, you held it out in front of you. “Let’s make this quick.”

But the witcher made no vile movement towards you. Instead, he reached a hand out as your eyes grew heavier, the pounding in your head becoming the only thing you could hear. And then, you fell into a familiar darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N finally faces the people they thought would be their demise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my Ao3 readers! I totally forgot to upload the chapter on here yesterday, sorry about that! I hope you all enjoy this chapter even though it is a bit shorter. Also, a thank you to the guest and starwrite_er for commenting, and thanks to everyone who has given this story kudos! :D

You heard the lute first. The soft melody from the strings reminded you of your mother — her voice would echo around your small house, waking you from your deepest slumbers as she made whatever was lying around for breakfast. She never admitted that she was talented, that her voice was just as beautiful as any bards, not even when you told her so. She would only smile and continue singing, pretending not to hear your compliments. 

But the remnants of your memory were blown away when another chord was struck — the wrong chord, you guessed, since the whispering of a curse followed after. Your vision of her faded slowly, her smile turning into a far off memory, an image that you tried to grasped as you reached a somewhat full awareness of your surroundings.

As you got your bearings, you were reminded of your situation. You decided to move slowly, just in case something was terribly wrong. Keeping your eyes closed, you twitched your fingers, testing that you were, in fact, alive. Your fingertips felt what was beneath you. It was…what felt like a blanket. And now that you came more to your senses, your back wasn’t on the cold floor — it was in a bed.

The fear panged within you with a thousand bolts. Ignoring your initial instinct to stay quiet, you jolted up and shot your eyes open, immediately reaching for the knife you typically kept under your sleeve.

“It’s not there.” 

The voice startled you — you flicked your eyes across the room. The witcher was watching you from a spot where he leaned against the wall. As you tried to push yourself off the bed, you noticed, once again, your wrist was bound. But this time, it was only one wrist attached to the nearest bedpost, with the most intricate knot you had ever seen — even if you tried to undo do it with your one free hand, the witcher would stop you immediately. Unable to move, you stayed upright in the bed like a helpless bunny rabbit about to be targeted by a hunter.

You stared the witcher down from your position, trying to seem more in control of the situation. “You didn’t kill me.”

“No.” The witcher jutted his head to the side. “Because you didn’t kill him.” You snapped your head to your right — there, the bard was sitting in a chair a good distance away from you. He was holding a lute in his lap, but had stopped playing it. Once he saw you look at him, he flinched.

You smirked at your effect on him but turned back to the witcher. “Why am I tied to a bed?”

To your surprise, the bard answered. “Because we put you there.” You turned back to him with your eyebrows raised, then settled on a glare. It took him a second to get understand the underlying presumption of his sarcastic comment. “No no no, we didn’t do anything like that—“

“You fainted.” Again, your head swiveled to the other side of the room. You blinked back at the witcher; he was telling the truth, from what you knew. The last thing you remember was letting the bard go, getting ready to fight, and then darkness.

You reached a hand to the back of your head, where the witcher had knocked you out before. You touched around your hair, expecting to feel some sort of leftover blood. There was none.

“We patched you up. Your shoulder too.” The witcher shifted uncomfortably. “Sorry about that.“

You dropped your hand with a sigh. You supposed it was kind of them to tend to your wounds — still, the idea of these two strangers looming over your unconscious body made you shiver. 

You subconsciously reached a hand to your shoulder — it was covered, but you still felt exposed without your cloak on. You rolled your shoulder back, clenching your teeth at the pain ached in your bones.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and dropped your hand. “Why haven’t you handed me to the guards?”

“Bringing an unconscious person to the guards doesn’t do any of us much good.” He stayed silent for a moment, then gave in to your continuous frown. “And we thought you should be given a chance to explain yourself.”

“We didn’t think anything.” You expected the bard to continue complaining, but the witcher’s glare shut him up.

He turned back to you. “Why are you here?”

You hesitated, but still raised your eyebrows. This witcher was…direct, even more so than you. Though, he was more sympathetic than you might have imagined.

Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to trust these two. Even though you knew something was off with this assignment…well, you were tied to the bedpost, for the gods’ sake. Not that these two were in the wrong for not trusting you either— you did try to kill one of them.

Eventually, you gave in. “I’m…apart of a guild.”

The bard leaned forward in his seat. “What’s it called?”

You bit your tongue. “I can’t tell you.”

“Oh, that’s just wonderful—”

“I can tell you—” You glared at the bard, then returned your gaze to the witcher. “It’s a small guild. We move around, city to city, usually scrounging for work. But lately business has been…good.”

The bard scoffed. “Congratulations.”

Again, you and the witcher ignored him. “That’s probably why there’s been a mistake.”

“A mistake.” The larger man stood up straighter from his spot against the wall.

“Like I said, we’re a small group. There must have been a mixup with the names, or the payer’s intentions.”

It was a guess, at most. But Rauf was always on top of his assignments and made sure they were accurate. He must have slipped up working with so many cases. It had to be that.

The witcher considered you for a moment. His eyes watched you carefully, but he eventually leaned back. “You mentioned earlier that you killed monsters.”

You supposed it was sort of a question, though a vague one; realizing these two weren’t going to let you go anytime soon, you sighed. Usually, your assignments didn’t involve this much…talking. And now your head was still feeling lighter than it should, probably aching from the impact on the hardwood floor. You sat up against the headboard of the bed and placed your bound hand in your lap.

“We are technically assassins, yes.” You let a breath out. “But we don’t take just any targets.”

Your former target sat up in his chair. “Glad to know I’m special.”

“Well, not anymore.” You smirked at his slightly offended expression. “We kill the humans that hold monsters in them. The ones deserving of death.”

The bard’s curiosity was almost as annoying as his sarcastic comments. He leaned forward further in his chair, his elbows placed comfortably on his knees. “And who, exactly, is deserving of death?”

“Rapists. Abusers. Killers—“

“Killers? But that’s what you are, isn’t it?”

“I never said I wasn’t.” You snapped, pushing yourself from your semi-relaxed position. If it weren’t for the witcher’s gaze on you, and your current bonds, you might have jumped out of the bed in an attempt to punch the imbecile.

But the witcher broke your angry gaze from the bard. “Okay, okay. You were hired to kill Jaskier…by who?”

“I don’t know.” Another scoff from the bard. You bit your tongue despite the desire to send him a glare. If you answered their questions, maybe they would let you go.

You tried to formulate your words in the vaguest way possible. “The person in charge of my guild…I trust him. He said a victim’s family member was after the bard. That he raped someone and eleven before them.”

“So you didn’t have proof?” The bard’s tone made your blood feel hot.

You grit your teeth. “Like I said, I trust him. I’ve known him for a long time and he’s never let me down.”

“Except now.”

With a sharp inhale, you turned to the witcher. If you looked at the bard’s smug face any longer, you would be tempted to kill a possibly innocent man. Besides, fighting with the idiot wouldn’t get you free from this situation. “I need to go talk to him to see what happened, to clear up this mess. Can’t do that when I’m tied to a bed.”

The witcher looked back at you with an indecipherable expression. He was evaluating you, that much was sure. You tried to keep your face as stoic as possible — this was your chance to convince them of letting you go.

After a few seconds of the witcher’s clear contemplation, the bard nearly jumped to the end of his chair. “Geralt! We can’t just…let an assassin go!”

“You were the one who didn’t want to resort to capturing in the first place.”

“That was before I was almost killed! The second time!”

“But you weren’t.” You interjected, making both men turn to you. “Do you want to risk them sending other assassins after you? I can go to the guild, tell him what happened, and he’ll figure it out.”

The two were quiet for a moment, both searching your face for something — a lie, perhaps. It was the witcher who spoke. “And what about you?”

“I’ll wait until he figures it out, then come back here to tell you what happened.”

The bard chimed in. “And after that?”

“I’ll get a new assignment. Or not. Either way, he’ll tell me what to do.”

The bard let out a dry laugh. “Do you always let people tell you what to do?”

Taking a deep breath, you decided to let that comment slide. You closed your eyes and searched for the right words. “Look, I know it’s a lot to ask you to trust me—“ Another laugh from the bard made you snap your eyes open. You clenched your jaw as if doing so would keep your anger inside. “Wouldn’t you like to know why I almost killed you?”

For once, the bard went quiet. He sunk back in his chair with a defeated expression. Almost as if knowing the bard wouldn’t want to admit it himself, the witcher cleared his throat and nodded. “You’re right. You should go talk to him.”

You watched the witcher walk over to you and untie the knot of your bounds effortlessly. As soon as your arm was free, you clutched your swollen wrist. “Is that it?”

“That’s it. Your weapons are on the table.”

You blinked. Though you hoped it would be this easy, you didn’t actually believe it would. Clearly, your former target didn’t either. He was now opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. “You’re just…not even a fight to…what if they hurt me—“

“If they hurt you, I’ll hurt them.” The witcher flicked his eyes back to you, staring you down like you were prey. It wasn’t something you were used to — typically, you gave others that glare. His gaze made you feel the urge to squirm, but instead, you straightened your back and lifted your chin. 

If you were being honest, you thought you would be dead by now, and every move you made you thought the witcher might pounce. But with just this look, you could tell the witcher was an admirable man, one who kept his promises. You weren’t sure if that was good or bad, in your case.

You ended up giving him a curt nod and slipped past him out of the bed, trying not to show your unsteadiness as you walked over to the table that held your belongings. You felt the two men’s eyes on you as you fit the weapons into their rightful places — your knives that slid into the small sheaths from your wrist and up your arm, the larger knives you kept in a part of your boots, the mini sword that you hid on your back seamlessly under your cloak. After you gathered your things, you felt your shoulders roll back naturally; the weight of your weapons brought immediate comfort to you — it made you feel strong and ready to fight, despite the injuries you sustained.

You turned to the men once again, this time with a confident gaze. They looked back at you, the witcher with the same resigned expression, and the bard with apparent distress. 

“I’ll be back.” You said, and without any further discussion, you left the bard’s room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trust can be built — but easily broken.

You realized as you stepped outside of the inn that you were in there overnight. Your injuries must have been pretty bad if you were knocked out that long, but you didn’t feel too much pain right now. Whatever those two did to patch you up, they must have used something powerful.

You breathed in the fresh air and closed your eyes, trying to collect your thoughts. Nothing like this had ever happened to you before. An assignment gone wrong, yes — there were multiple times where your target tried to fight back, but to no avail. But never in your experience had a case been...wrong. Or at least, not proven to be. You shook the thought as soon as it entered your head. No way Rauf would slip up more than once. It must have been a small error — one that you were glad you stumbled upon before killing a possibly innocent man.

But nothing was truly set in stone. The witcher and bard could have lied with no moral intentions other than getting away with the crimes they’ve committed. The thought made your head spin — if they were lying, somehow knew that you would be assigned to kill the bard, planted evidence of other whereabouts...well, it was a bit crazy now that you worked through it in your head. But if they did, just if, Rauf would be severely disappointed. Rauf’s disappointment was worse than his anger, as any guardians’ was. But his especially...it flipped your insides and ripped them out through the gaps in your teeth.

Still, something about the two strangers was compelling to you. The witcher was harder to read, but also somewhat easier. He said things simply, promised the truth with his words but also his eyes.

The bard was a whole other story. Frantic, strange, annoying, sure — but your mind couldn’t erase the way he acted before you held a knife deliberately to his throat. The kind blue eyes, curious but worrisome — that was one of the most foreign parts of the whole ordeal.

The city was already bustling as you made your way through the streets, nearly impossibly avoiding the crowds through different alleyways here and there. You stuck to the usual methods of keeping your head low and footsteps quick enough — but not too quick to draw attention to yourself. The last thing you needed right now was for a guard to stop you and push you even further away from your task.

The Novigrad Guild was actually not far from the inn. It was a quick trip, though taking many detours to avoid guards and other people made the trip longer. The path there was almost second nature, a replaying from your memory of footsteps you needed to take. It allowed you to focus more on your surroundings, to observe the city around you and think about how the hell you would explain all of this to Rauf.

You couldn’t imagine him getting too mad. He seemed to always have a better mood in cities like this, especially when visiting old friends. The only reason your guild had its own space in certain cities was because of Rauf’s connections. In this case, he was long time friends with the well-known guild master, Arnet. They went way back, even worked together on cases before Rauf created his own guild. You were excited to see Arnet again as well, since he knew you since you were pretty young.

You were now in a quieted alleyway, a bit aways from where a crowd had just recently passed. Suddenly, your ears perked up at a sound behind you — footsteps. Too clumsy for a guard, too obvious for another assassin. A beggar, perhaps, or a poorly trained thief. Either way, they were going to be sourly disappointed that they chose you to rob.

You picked up your pace and took different paths than usual — you went straight through a crowded square, then turned left into a path with merchants lining the walls. You continued forward and found an alleyway with multiple indented doorways. With a swift sidestep, you squeezed yourself behind one of the indents, making sure to listen for the person who was following you. Sure enough, the same sound of footsteps entered the quiet alleyway, this time more tentative than before. You slipped the knife from your sleeve as the person got closer to your spot — you only meant to scare them off, teach them to think twice about whatever it was they were doing; it was only when they walked past your spot that you let your shoulders go limp.

“What are you doing here?” The bard twisted his body around to face you, his eyes immediately traveling to the knife in your hand.

“Gods, you scared me. Watch where you swing that thing, would you?”

You let out a sharp sigh and slipped the knife back into your sleeve. “I could have killed you,” you said, though you knew it wasn’t true.

“You’ve tried before and failed.”

You tugged your sleeve down more aggressively than usual.“Next time you won’t be so lucky.” You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “Why are you following me?”

“Following? You? No, I was just on a stroll in the city. I never did give these alleyways the…appreciation…they deserved.” He smiled cheekily, placing his hands on his hips with way too much confidence. You only blinked at him, which was enough for him to give up the act and sag his shoulders with a sigh. “Fine. I was following you. Happy now?”

“No. But I am surprised you managed to keep up with me.” You pursed your lips, honestly impressed with the bard’s dedication. You managed to shrug off the expression quickly and instead settled on a frown. “You still haven’t answered why.”

“Right. Well, to be quite blunt, I don’t trust you.”

You raised your eyebrows. Blunt was right. “Okay. And you thought following me would do…what, exactly?”

“Make sure you were doing what you said you would. Checking in with your guild, or whatever.”

“Right. And the witcher just let you leave the inn?”

The bard scoffed. “Let me? No, I went out after Geralt left—“

“He’s here too?”

He frowned. “Well, I don’t know if he’s here, but —“

“Jaskier!”

Both of your heads snapped to the sound of the outburst — there, at the end of the alleyway, was the very witcher, his frown even more defined than your own.

The bard winced. “Okay, well maybe he is here.”

The witcher made it over to you two, directing his anger at the bard. “I told you to stay behind.”

You closed your eyes and shook your head, trying to piece everything together. “Wait, wait, wait. You were both following me?”

“Yes.” They answered at the same time, but the bard continued. “Quite sneakily, I’d say.”

“He was.” You pointed to the witcher, then to the bard. “You, not so much.” All the bard could do was scoff before you turned to the taller man. “And why are you following me?”

“I don’t trust you.”

“Wow. Okay. Great.” You placed your palms on your forehead — these two were more persistent than you realized. You took a deep breath and faced them both. “Look. The closer you follow me to the guild, the more suspicious they’re going to be. You’re just going to have to trust me.”

“Do you really expect us to trust you that easily?”

You clenched your jaw. “No. But like I said, you’re going to have to.”

The witcher watched you for a moment, then gave a curt nod. “Fine.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” He turned to the bard and jutted his head to the end of the alleyway. “Jaskier. Back to the inn.”

The bard ogled between you two, “Wha—“

Before he could speak further, you shook your head. At this point, the situation was laughable. “No, you both have to go back.”

“I’m not taking the chance of more assassins coming after him.”

“Exactly. Which is why he needs someone to escort him back to the inn.” You waited for the men to get your point. Instead, the bard scoffed.

“He is standing right here, thank you very much.”

You had to physically hold back a groan. “You can’t follow me to the guild, or more assassins will try to kill you.”

“What? Why?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose with two fingers and took a deep breath. “I’m the one with the assignment, but the other members of the guild are notified of it. If they finish their assignments, and they find you before I do, they can claim the reward before I get it.”

The bard scrunched his nose. “What kind of rule is that?”

“An unfair one.” You back away from the two men slowly, praying that they would actually listen to you. “Which is why you both have to leave. I’ll meet you two back at the inn. Stay in your room. And don’t follow me.”

To your surprise, they actually nodded, though both of them looked like sad puppy dogs being left behind by their owner. You let out a sigh of relief as you neared the end of the alleyway, and began to turn around towards the street. Just before you did, the witcher called out.

“If you come back and try to kill him,” he paused just to let his next words sink in. “I won't hold back my sword.”

You took a deep breath and sent him a clear nod before rounding the corner. Under your breath, you mumbled, “I don’t count on it.”

—

The bell rang obnoxiously as you entered the merchant’s shop; it took you a bit longer than you would have liked to get there, mostly because you went an even longer way to make sure the witcher and bard were no longer following you. After being satisfied that they weren’t, you continued on.

The shop was empty except a man standing eagerly at the counter. He wasn’t the usual guy, and it seemed like he was pretty new.

“Welcome, welcome.” You walked up to the counter, where the man smiled proudly. “Fine goods we have here. Anything that peaks your fancy?”

The disinterest on your face was hard to hide. It was the same script every time, and it got worse and worse the more you heard it. “I’m here for the fellowship.”

The merchant's demeanor changed completely. “What’s your business?”

“Report.”

“For?”

You rolled your eyes. If this guy wasn’t so uptight, he would have let you through by now. “I just need to talk to Rauf.”

He leaned back with a grunt. “Patch?”

“For the gods sake.” You reached up to your collar and flipped it towards him — your guild patch was sewed on the inside. He looked at it, then back to you; after a moment of contemplation, he pointed a thumb to the door behind him. You thanked him with an obnoxious smile, fixed your collar, and pushed through the back door.

Inside was a small area full of stock items. Secondhand swords, jars of alchemy ingredients — what you were interested in was the large barrel in the corner of the room. Moving it was only slightly difficult. It was only when you fully pushed it off the hatch door that the merchant came in the room — he probably wanted to let you suffer by making you move a barrel full of who knows what. You shook it off and opened the hatch, not bothering to use the ladder as you dropped down into the underground area.

As soon as your feet landed on the ground, the hatch above you was slammed shut, leaving you in almost complete darkness. You rolled your eyes at the new merchant’s attitude, but luckily, you knew your way around the room that, at first glance, looked like just another basement full of wares. You placed a hand on the stone walls and followed it all the way to the back corner, where a gate led to the sewers. But to you, it was more of a…glorified sewer.

You opened the gate and closed it behind you, then continued down the dark corridor. Rauf and the rest of the assassins were grateful for a place to stay in the city, no matter what senses they would have to sacrifice — in this case, the sense of smell. It definitely wasn’t the best temporary guild (not like the Oxenfurt one — that was a luxury compared to this), but you all dealt with it.

It took a couple turns through the underground area when the sound of laughter finally echoed against the walls; as you made a final turn, you were greeted with the main room where three other assassins were sitting at a table playing gwent — their assignments must have gone well, especially since they had time to play around. You walked past them with only a nod and turned another corner.

After the main room, there was a short walk to Rauf’s office. Office was a strong word. There was a table and some barrels, and it was one of the only places that didn’t have sewage leaking on the floors. The only thing that separated this area from the rest of the corridor was another iron gate whose door had been ripped off the hinges and was never replaced.

When you got to the ‘office’, Rauf was sitting at his desk, writing a letter intently. You knocked on the iron just next to what you all pretended was a door.

Without looking up, Rauf spoke. “You don’t need to knock, Y/N.”

You stepped inside but decided to lean against the gate. “Has Arnet stopped by?”

“No, he’s busy. Like me.” You stiffened. If Rauf hadn’t caught up with Arnet yet, it explained his sour attitude. He sighed and looked up to you from his desk. “I would hope for some good news, but your face tells me otherwise.”

You clenched your jaw. It always bothered you how well Rauf could read you. “Depends on how you look at it.”

“How should I look at it?”

You shifted. “The bard—my target. He could be innocent.”

Though Rauf could always read your expressions, you couldn’t read his. “What does that mean?”

“He wasn’t in Oxenfurt when the victim claimed he was.”

“And you know this because…?” Rauf leaned forward with false enthusiasm.

“He showed me a poster. For his event in Velen.”

Rauf put his pen down and leaned back in his chair. With just that movement, you could feel the disappointment shooting out from every part of his being. “And you gave him the chance to talk instead of getting the job done?”

“It’s…more complicated than that.” You felt yourself become defensive, almost predicting what Rauf would say if you took your emotions too far. But deep down you knew you did the right thing. You swallowed your harsh tone and tried to mask it, keeping your face as resigned as you could. “It’s a good thing I did. I might have killed an innocent man.”

“Might have.” Rauf stood up and placed both hands on the desk, his head falling down as he let out a sigh. He lifted his head, speaking slowly as he tapped his finger down on the desk with each word. “Why didn’t you bring the target here?”

It hadn’t crossed your mind to take the bard to the guild, partly because he seemed so…clueless. Almost annoyingly so. Bringing him to the guild would be more of a mess than was already made. Besides, there was the witcher.

You perked up, trying to hide your lack of response. “There was a witcher.”

Rauf’s eyebrows shot up, then quickly came down in another frown. “A witcher?”

“Yes. A friend of the bard.”

Rauf searched your face for a lie, though you rarely ever told one. You watched him shake his head once again, this time with concern. “I thought this might be too much for you—“

“It’s not.” You straightened up and took a step forward. “I got out alive, didn’t I? You just...worry too much, Rauf.”

“That, I do.” He nodded with a sad smile, then sat back down in his chair. “I’ll deal with the payer, see what happened there. It will probably take me some time to figure something out, but I’ll need you back here for the update—“

“I’ll go back and stick around them until you talk to the payer. They trust me enough—for now.” You couldn’t help the eagerness that radiated from you; something in your gut told you to get back to the inn as soon as possible.

You went to leave the office but turned around once more. “When you meet the payer, ask for some details about the target. Eye color, hair, other specifics. So we can be sure.”

“You got it, boss.” Rauf winked at you with his charming smile. You smirked and stepped out of his office, letting out a sigh of relief as you walked back through the corridors. Knowing Rauf wasn’t completely over the edge from work and the annoying inconvenience that was this assignment made you feel a little bit better. Now you would just have to stick around the two men who didn’t really trust you. Not that you blamed them.

“Y/N!” You were already down the corridor away from the main room when you heard the voice. Joneta, one of the other assassins, was running towards you, trying to catch up.

She eventually ran up next to you, walking with you as you both rounded the corners of the sewers. “Haven’t seen you since you lost gwent to me in Velen. Twice.”

You quirked a brow, “And I haven’t seen you since you shoved ale down that woman’s dress and got us kicked out of the Crossroads Inn.”

There was a sharp glare that you aimed at each other — what some would call deadly — but both of you soon broke into laughter. Joneta was the closest thing you had to a friend, despite rarely seeing her. She was also the closest one of the guild to your age, only being older by a couple years. You two had always been a bit competitive with each other’s assignments — she was the only one in the guild who didn’t treat you differently because of your closeness with Rauf.

“How have you been?” She asked as soon as your laughter had died down.

“Could be better.”

She sighed, “As usual. But at least we’re back in the wonderful city of Novigrad.”

As if on cue, a rat scuttled by your feet.

You snorted, “Wonderful.”

The two of you walked in comfortable silence, with only the sound of the sewers and your quiet footsteps echoing against the stone walls.

It didn’t take long for Joneta’s nosiness peak, though she tried to mask it with curiosity. “Heard you got the case of that bard, Julian—something.”

She was holding back, waiting for you to give her more information. But she knew you better than this — you hummed in response.

“Must be hard to go after such a ‘celebrity’.”

This time, you shrugged. But Joneta wouldn’t let up.

“Did you finish it yet?”

You avoided her eyes, instead staring at the path ahead of you. “Not quite.”

“Oh.” Knowing Joneta, her sentence was far from over. You peeked at her from the corner of your eye. 

Any second now.

She let out a dramatic sigh.

Bingo.

“Well, be warned. I’ve been keeping an eye out for him.” Your heart nearly stopped. “If you don’t get him soon, one of us will. Probably me.”

You halted in your tracks, turning yourself to face her. Despite her cheeky smile, or the mischievous glint in her eye, you couldn’t match it like you usually did. Your stomach felt like it was flipped inside out, the heat in your veins filling to a brim. Despite your change in demeanor, Joneta kept on smirking — you clenched your fist.

“The assignment is on stand by right now. Until Rauf gets more information.”

“Whatever makes you feel better about being behind.” You could barely move before she winked and began walking backward.“I’ll see you soon?” 

Without waiting for you to answer, she turned around and jogged back the way you came. Her figure disappeared in the darkness, leaving you to let out a shaky breath.

You finally released your clenched fist, barely looking down at the red marks your fingers had left before continuing through the sewers.

If Joneta was looking for the bard, he wasn’t going to be safe for long. A part of you couldn’t help but wonder why this made you so angry — you barely knew the bard, for the gods' sake. Maybe it was your anger at Rauf for not being more careful with assignments, or anger at yourself for getting into this mess. Either way, it was a good thing you made the witcher and bard go back to inn, or he would surely be at the end of another assassin’s sword. Still, the inn wouldn’t be safe for long — you had to get back to them, quick.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Making a plan was so much simpler when you were alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I just want to give a quick thank you to anyone who has given kudos and a special thank you to those of you who have commented, I love reading your thoughts! 
> 
> Remember to stay safe!

The walk back to the inn was much quicker this time. You still weaved your way through alleyways and avoided people’s eyes, while trying to make sure none of the assassins from the guild were following you. The last thing you needed right now was for them to track where the bard was staying.

Because of that, you decided it would be best to avoid going through the front of the inn. It would only bring attention to yourself, and you needed to lay low and not attract any suspicious eyes. You slid past a group of men who were just entering the tavern — they were seemingly already drunk, despite it being hardly past noon. You shrugged it off and went down the quiet and slim alleyway that lay just between the inn and another building. Your eyes scanned the side of the inn; from what you remembered, the bard was on the second floor in the room all the way to the left. That meant the third window from the right lead to his room.

Though the Kingfisher Inn was one of the best you had seen, the bricks that lined the walls stuck out in different places. It was an okay building structure, but an even better building for climbing.

Without hesitation, you grabbed at the bricks and hauled yourself up the building towards the bard’s window. You moved quickly, your eyes flicking to the bricks that were sticking out enough for you to grip them. You shifted your feet so they leaned on the other window frames, using that to push yourself further up the building. Finally, you reached the third-floor window; one hand gripped the window sill while the other pushed the window slightly, testing if it was open. It was.

You rolled your eyes and pushed it further, leaving enough room for you to slide in. With one swift motion, you pushed your body up with your hands, grabbed the top of the window sill, swung your legs — then body — through the opening, and landed in the room with barely a thud.

You smiled to yourself as you looked back out the window to the drop below. Not bad. Smile still on your face, you turned to look at the room.

The room was just as messy as when you first saw it — clothes were thrown over different objects, bottles of alcohol were now nearly empty. Despite the overt messiness, the evidence of your…experience there was now gone: the chair you were once strapped to was in the far corner, the bed was neatly made. Any indication of a struggle was gone, except for the struggle of choosing what to wear.

That still seemed to be an issue for the bard, since he was sitting in a chair facing away from you, wearing only an undershirt tucked into his pants. He strummed his lute lightly, a similar tune to the one you woke up to this morning. Seemingly, he hadn’t noticed your entrance.

“Your window is open.”

It was then that he jumped halfway out of his seat. He stood up quickly with a hand to his heart, only slightly calming down when he saw you. “How did you—“ He turned his gaze from you to the window, then back again. “Gods, you’re worse than Geralt!”

You raised your eyebrows. Worse than a witcher? You took that as a compliment.

Despite the twinge of pride that coursed through your body, you kept a straight face. “Your window was open.”

“Yes, I am well aware, thank you.” He placed his lute on the table beside himself, frown still painted on his face. He shook his head slightly and deepened his frown. “How did you even get to this floor?”

“I climbed.”

The bard blinked, his look of awe soon being wiped away with one of disbelief. “You know, there is a door. Multiple, actually. They might be useful to you sometime in your life.”

“I didn’t want anyone to see me.”

“But seeing you climb three stories isn’t suspicious at all?”

You tilted your head. He had a point.

Instead of letting him feel the satisfaction, you settled on a shrug. The bard rolled his eyes and poured himself a drink, then emptied the rest of the bottle into another glass. He picked one up and held it towards you, to which you only stared at him. He shrugged, poured the one cup into the other, and chugged it.

“You know,” he said once he finished his drink, “I don’t even know your name.”

You hesitated. It wasn’t what you expected to come out of the bard’s mouth. ‘How many people have you killed’, ‘what does it feel like to murder someone’…it was usually what someone would bring up as soon as they could. But this bard wanted to know…your name?

You pursed your lips. “Does it matter?”

“Yes. I think I deserve a proper introduction with the person who tried to kill me. Twice.” He placed his glass back on the table with a thud. For a second, he stood still, eyes flicking over your face — studying you. Then, he walked over to you and stuck his hand out. “Julian Alfred Pankratz.”

A lump formed in your throat as you stared down at the bard’s hand. A proper introduction was not something you were familiar with. Your introduction was typically one that started with a fist and ended with a corpse. But for some reason, you didn’t feel the need to withhold information right now. After all, it was just a name.

“Y/N,” you said, taking his hand.

Calloused, with a strong grip. You locked eyes with the bard — Julian — and were surprised when his eyes didn’t immediately tear away from yours. Only the brave will keep an unfaltering gaze with an assassin. You expected a witcher to maybe hold the eye contact, but a bard? You couldn’t help but feel impressed.

The sound of a key in the door made both you and Julian turn, ripping the gaze you held. You immediately stepped forward, releasing your grip from his and getting ready to slide your knife from its spot on your wrist. Soon, the door was open and quickly closed behind the witcher, who turned around to face you two and immediately stopped in his tracks. As you lowered your guard, his golden eyes flicked from you, to Julian, to the now open window.

“I leave you for one minute and someone still manages to catch you off guard.”

Julian scoffed. “I wasn’t caught off guard.” He lied, “And I was writing a song.”

“The witcher is right.” You crossed your arms over your chest, turning back to the bard. “You need to be more careful. If that was any other assassin you’d be dead.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” He sat back in his chair, turning it so he could face you. “You don’t pride yourself in your ability to kill people?”

You decided to ignore his jab. In a split second, it was as if the respect you had for him disappeared into thin air.

You turned to the witcher. “My employer is going to meet with the payer and figure out what is going on. But that won’t stop other assassins from trying to finish the job.”

“They would kill me even though I’m innocent?”

“They don’t know you’re innocent.” And even I don’t. You bit your tongue. You had to admit Julian was right — Rauf should have told the whole guild of the issue so you wouldn’t have to worry about the other assassins, but you guessed he didn’t want to admit a possible mistake until he was sure. Which is why you had to keep an eye on this imbecile until Rauf got back.

“So what does that mean? Am I on lockdown until further notice?”

“Kind of. But we need to relocate somewhere safer.”

“As long as I’m with him, he’ll be fine.” The witcher leaned against the door, his scowl more prominent than before.

“And what happens when you just leave him for a minute and another assassin sneaks in the window?” The witcher’s glare barely phased you. “It’s not safe here. We need to go somewhere else, somewhere smaller.”

“I think you forgot an important part of this situation.” He turned to you with both hands in the air. “We?”

“I can’t leave you alone. Not when I know the other assassins are thinking about killing you.”

“You don’t mind staying with us?” The bard leaned forward in his seat. “You do realize we tortured you, right?”

You shrugged. “I would have done the same.”

“How reassuring.” Julian clicked his tongue. “How do I know you don’t plan to kill me whenever Geralt turns his back?”

You pursed your lips and lifted your chin slightly. “I don’t enjoy killing people who are innocent. Or, might be.”

“Where do you suggest we go?” The witcher interjected, but before you could answer, Julian spoke.

“What could be safer than an inn with witnesses everywhere?”

“Exactly my point.” You didn’t wait for either of the men to respond. “With too much of a crowd, it can be easier to eliminate a target without being caught.”

“But when you tried to kill me you brought me to my own room. Which, I’d like to point out, is pretty upsetting on its own.”

“If I didn’t do that, you wouldn’t be alive now, would you?” You quirked a brow at the bard, who stuck his bottom lip out in a pout. The fact that he didn’t protest further allowed you to take a second before speaking again.“We can’t stay in the city. A smaller area is better, somewhere there isn’t a guild too close by.”

“Like?”

“Just outside of Novigrad. There are plenty of villages we can jump from.”

Julian sat up in his chair. “No, no, no. We can't leave the city.”

“And why is that?”

“Because we just got here!” 

You scoffed at the bard’s excuse, rolling your eyes as he scrambled to come up with another reason.

He snapped his fingers and pointed at you once he thought of something. “And...it would be easier to kill me in an isolated area. With no witnesses.”

You took a sharp breath in, holding onto whatever patience you had left. “Like I said, assassins don’t care if there is a crowd or not.”

“But not is easier. Not as many witnesses, not as many worries.” You opened your mouth the argue, but found yourself speechless. If you had to admit it, he had a point. To be honest, either option was bad. 

But of course you wouldn’t let them think you considered it.

”So, what do you suggest, bard? We stay in the inn and wait for someone to attack you?” Just when you expected him to not have a response, to give in and admit he had no plan, he perked up in his chair.

“We can move to a different inn, under a different name. I’ll keep this room as a...a misdirect. No one will know I’m at the other inn.” You shifted your eyes to the witcher, who shared the same unconvinced look.

Noticing this, Julian jumped from his chair. “Besides, you two will be there. I trust you to be my…bodyguards. Well, I trust Geralt.”

You stifled a laugh. “Bodyguard?” 

“What? It is a very sophisticated job title.”

“For who?”

“Alright.” The witcher pushed himself from his position and took a few steps closer, still keeping his proximity to the door. “We’ll stay in the city, but if anything happens, we listen to the assassin.”

You scoffed. “If anything happens, he’ll be dead.”

But at this point, neither of the men listened to you. Julian was already getting his stuff together — his stuff being the clothes littered on the floor. While the witcher quietly returned to his spot blocking the door, you shifted your gaze between the two. They were pretty much complete opposites — one almost as silent as a shadow, and the other an actual ball of nonstop noisemaking.

You supposed it was easier to go along with the bard’s plan, at least for now. You would have to keep a sharp eye out for anything strange — at the slightest suspicion, forcing them to leave the city would be your only option. But for the time being, letting the bard think he was in control might be for the best.

You made your way over to the witcher, hoping it would signify the fact that you were ready to leave. You doubted that would be happening anytime soon — Julian continued picking up clothes from the floor at a leisurely pace, hanging each one over his arm with surprising delicacy.

“Not going to take the window this time?”

You snorted, only turning to look at the witcher from the corner of your eye, “Guess not.” You nodded to the bard, who was now mumbling to himself between random hums. “Is he always—“

“You’ll get used to it.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who knew only a couple hours of isolation could make you go this crazy.

Getting Julian out of the Kingfisher Inn was like ripping a knife from your own thigh: painful and a lot more trouble than it’s worth. After around a good hour of packing his many, many clothes, he was finally ready to change locations; in the end, it didn’t matter, because you all agreed that waiting until night fell would be safest to travel.

Eventually, the three of you managed to sneak out of the inn and to another one. The Nowhere Inn, located to the east of Novigrad, was where you found yourselves camping out. You waited with Julian while Geralt booked a room, your eyes and ears trying to focus on the world around you to make sure no one was lurking in the shadows. The bard blabbered on anyway, distracting you more than you would be comfortable admitting.

“The Nowhere Inn is absolutely perfect. When someone asks where I am, you don’t even have to lie. Just say _Nowhere_.”

You didn’t bother holding back your eye roll.

And now, all three of you had made it to the room. It wasn’t nearly as nice as the Kingfisher Inn, and Julian made a point of saying so multiple times. It was still a nicer place than you usually stayed in, so you couldn’t complain. Instead, you silently claimed a chair in the far corner of the room, hoping to be left alone for the remainder of however long it was that you would have to stay there.

But of course, that wouldn’t happen.

You were sharpening one of your knives when the bard’s antsiness peaked. He patted a rhythm on his lap and sat up in his own chair, across the room from you.

“When do you think Geralt will be back?”

You lifted the knife to eye level to inspect the sharpness. Without looking at the bard, you answered, “Why do you think _I_ would have a clue?”

“Alright, no need to have an attitude.” His tone might have made you feel guilty if he hadn’t been practically pestering you this whole time. 

It had only been a couple of hours of hiding in the inn with Geralt and Julian, and they were already getting on your nerves. Geralt, not so much. He kept to himself mostly, unless Julian resorted to talking to him (which he usually did). But when Geralt left to go do something or another, the bard was forced to turn to you for his…entertainment.

You felt him watching you as you switched knives, still watching you as you continued to sharpen it. It made you uncomfortable, to say the least. You sighed and put your knives back in their sheaths, making a point of looking at Julian with raised brows. “Do you need something?”

Instead of taking the hint, he leaned forward. “Do you do anything other than that?”

The ghost of a frown crossed your features. “Than what?”

“You know,” Julian waved his hand in the air. “Assassin things.”

You gave his question a good amount of thought before answering, “No.”

“You don’t have any hobbies? Any secret talents? Well, other than killing people.”

You blinked, yet again leaving a long space of time for him to bask in his anticipation. Then, you uttered a firm, “No.”

After he didn’t answer, you leaned back in your chair and lay your head over the edge. Perhaps if you closed your eyes he would get the hint to stop talking to you. It was a foolish thought, because almost seconds after you closed your eyes, you heard him get up from his seat, drag his chair agonizingly slowly across the room, and plant himself right in front of you.

You only slightly opened your eyes so you could peek at him — but when you saw he was holding his lute, you snapped your eyes open.

“Calm down, I’m not serenading you.” It was the first time you heard him laugh, genuinely, and you would be lying if it didn’t make your breath halt. Still, your eyes widened with what was close to fear at the thought of him performing just for you. If he did that, you might have to jump out the window.

Noticing your inner anguish, he tilted his head with a slight smirk. “Unless—“

“Please don’t.”

The mischievous sparkle in his eye dimmed as he laughed off your panicked expression. “I think you could use a new hobby. Though sharpening blades is…quite the skill, maybe you would benefit in trying something a little more…artistic.”

“Some blacksmiths would be at your throat for that.”

“Well, some blacksmiths aren’t in this room, now are they?” He raised his brows and waited for you to respond; when you didn’t, he held out his lute towards you.

You looked at the lute, then back to him. “You’re joking.”

“Come on.” He waved it in your direction. “It’s not going to bite.”

“I’m not playing your lute.”

“Not yet you aren’t.” He jutted it towards you once more, noting the way you shook your head with a scoff. “Just try it. And then I’ll leave you alone.”

That got you interested. You squinted at him, trying to tell if he was serious. His eyes only mirrored yours, and for a couple seconds you battled through your gaze.  
You would never admit that he won.

“Fine.” You took the lute from his hands and held it in your own, mimicking how you’d seen other bards holding it. It felt foreign in your arms — though you had only seen Julian play it a couple times, it felt strange to hold someone else’s possession. It would be like Geralt using one of your knives — it just didn’t feel right.

“Well, don’t hold it so tightly. It’s not going to run away.”

“I don’t want to drop it,” You muttered, but loosened your grip anyway.

“Okay. Your hands need to be a little higher. Like—“ His hands reached out to move your own, but you couldn’t help the way your body immediately stiffened. You kept your eyes focused on his hand, which hovered just over yours. He pulled back, instead directing you with his words. “Just…bring your hand so it’s a little further up the neck. Right. Now place that hand like this.“ He demonstrated with his hand in position; you mirrored it to the best of your ability.

“Now what?”

“Now, you strum.” So you did. And the sound was…not unpleasant. It definitely wasn’t as practiced as any bard you had ever heard, but something was satisfying about manipulating the instrument to do what you wanted. It was like when you learned the proper techniques for your knives — once you knew the right way to hold it, you could make it do practically anything.

“How did it feel?”

You considered him for a moment. “Not bad.”

“Didn’t sound too bad either.” He held his hands out and you placed the lute gently back in its owner’s hands. Julian placed it back in his lap with a smile.  
You didn’t like the way your face heated up at the look he gave you; still, you were too stubborn to look away. His eyes sparkled just as brightly as they did the first time he spoke to you — when he didn’t know you were trying to kill him. You felt your shoulders loosen, lips twitching their way from a thin line to a minute smirk, your eyes searching the bard’s face for something, anything that would keep you… _feeling_.

_Don’t let your guard down, or your emotions will come flowing out. Showing weakness is something you never want, Y/N. When that happens, you might as well give up._

You were out of your chair before the memory could fully resurface. Whatever feeling that was in the air had dissolved as soon as you stood up. “I should go scope out downstairs. Maybe find Geralt.”

“Shouldn’t I not be left alone?”

You walked past the bard’s chair and made sure your knives were in their place as you hovered by the door. “I’m not your babysitter.”

“I _prefer_ the word ‘bodyguard’.” He muttered as he began strumming his lute gently.

Instead of answering, you lifted your hood over your head and left the room, letting out a quick breath when you closed the door behind you. You felt the sudden need for fresh air, though you knew not to stay out long. Besides, it would be a good idea to make sure there were no strange lurkers around the inn. At least, none more strange than usual.

You made sure to do a quick sweep of the main tavern before exiting through the back door of the inn; Geralt wasn’t down there, which would have made you angry if you weren’t so desperate to be left alone. You made a mental note to make a comment about it when he did return — whenever that would be.

The fresh air hit your face as soon as you stepped outside — the night air was colder than when you arrived at the tavern, but maybe it was just because of the heat that had risen to your face. You leaned against the building with your arms crossed over your chest, head tilted towards the sky. The stars weren’t nearly as bright here as they were when you were out of the city — it was one of the many reasons you tended to jump from smaller villages despite the decline in work there. It reminded you of the home you once knew, where you could play in the dirt just beside your parents’ small cottage while your mother cooked what she could for dinner. Or where your father would sometimes lay with you in the grass to point at the stars — at least, when he wasn’t drinking.

You shook the thought away and ripped your gaze from the sky — reminiscing on faded memories would only lead to trouble, especially when you were supposed to be scouting out the area.

The streets had the usual amount of people for Novigrad; though it wasn’t as bustling as Hierarch square or the Kingfisher inn, drunks stumbled to and from the bar nonetheless.

It was then that you noticed a particular individual — this one wasn’t walking on drunken feet. No, this one was walking with a confidence you only knew from few people, not even counting yourself in those. They wore a similar cloak to your own, their hood pulled far over their face making it harder for you to see. The darkness didn’t help either.

But in the flickering of a nearby torch, you got a look of their face.

 _Joneta_.

“Fuck,” you barely let the word hit the air before you were slipping in the back door to the inn. The fresh air quickly dissipated as you were engulfed in the warmth of the inn, your face heating once again, but this time from…well, that didn’t matter. Not now.

When you made it to the room, you couldn’t help but burst through the door. Your breaths were controlled but your heart was beating out of your chest. And in the room, Julian was still strumming his lute with his feet up on a nearby table.

He barely turned to look at you. “Did you find—“  
“We have to go.”

Seemingly ignoring the urgency in your voice, he turned to you with a scrunched nose. “What, _now_?”

You huffed, trudged over to him, kicked his feet from the table, and gave him the deadliest stare you could muster. “ _Now_.”

“Alright, alright.”

He was getting up from his chair when you picked up on the sound of footsteps coming towards the room. It was a matter of seconds before the door was ripped open, and simultaneously, you had pulled out your knife and thrown it right at the person who walked in the room.

“Shit.” You breathed once you saw it was Geralt. The knife was lodged into the door just next to his head. He only blinked.

“Holy _shit_.” Julian repeated with more emphasis. “I guess sharpening those knives was worth it.”

You ignored him. “I thought you were—“

“An assassin. There’s one downstairs.”

“I know.”

“And where have you been?” Jaskier placed his hands on his hips, looking pointedly at Geralt.

You cut him off. “Doesn’t matter. We have to go. Now.”

This time, you didn’t let Julian take his sweet time. You practically shoved him out of the room, with Geralt directing you two out of the Inn. You couldn’t help looking behind you every second, afraid someone might have seen you. Joneta was a good assassin, but you never thought she would be able to find your new location so quickly. Maybe she hadn’t even known that you were there — she might have been stopping at the tavern for a drink or a game of gwent. But even if she didn’t mean to find Julian, you couldn’t risk it.

You were out of Novigrad by the time the sun came up. This time, Julian didn’t argue. He followed quietly between Geralt, who led on his horse, and you. Of course, he wasn’t completely quiet— he strummed his lute and hummed a tune that you hadn’t heard before. It was both calming and upsetting; the unnecessary noise made you nervous, because if someone was following you they wouldn’t need to worry about keeping up.

You were looking over you shoulder, searching the past roads for signs of people, when the bard finally spoke. “Well, that was a close one.”

“Too close.” You looked over your shoulder once more, pulling your hood further over your eyes.

Julian turned around to face you, walking backwards with a smirk planted on his lips. “You don’t have to be so skittish, you know. We’re out of the city, just like _you_ wanted.”

His sarcasm wasn’t lost on you; you glared at him from under your hood. “You’re right. You should be the one who is worrying, being the one with coin on his head.”

“Just another part of a thrilling adventure.”

If this was his idea of an adventure, you wanted no part of it. Always being on the run was one thing when you were the one doing the killing. But now you had to worry about someone else’s life, to protect them even if they _were_ an imbecile. Because right now, this imbecile was innocent. 

But you didn’t have to help them. You could leave right now. You could leave and let the other assassins kill the bard and take the money, even if he didn’t commit the crimes he was accused of. 

And yet…here you were. Walking silently behind two men you didn’t know just a couple days ago, who you would have considered strangers, or possibly future targets. Your morals were fucked up, sure — but you still couldn’t leave this behind. You were invested, determined, to keep this bard safe. At least until you knew for sure that he wasn’t the target you needed. Because if you didn’t do that, you would be just as much of a monster as the ones you killed.

Finally tearing your gaze away from the road behind you, you peered at the men in the darkness. Geralt continued forward on his horse, his head sweeping back and forth as he tried to look for a good place to stop. Julian had his lute on his back now, instead kicking up dirt as he walked. The silence was comfortable for once, but to be honest, that scared you. You didn’t know what these two were to you. That was something you didn’t want to be stuck thinking about. And being stuck in your thoughts almost made you ask Jaskier to play his lute again.

Almost.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s more to people than the sins they have committed.

The sun had reached the top of the sky and was already on its way down by the time you came across the village. You counted approximately eleven times that Jaskier had asked Geralt to get on his horse — _Roach_ — but to no avail. Now, the three of you were on foot with Geralt guiding Roach in front of you and through the village.

To say you were more relaxed was a bit of an overstatement.

Getting out of the city allowed your shoulders to lessen their tension, and you didn’t even mind that your hood was a bit further back than usual. But whenever you went into these villages, you were alone. You could walk around with barely a worry, the people around you not sparing you a glance. But now, with a witcher and a flashy bard, all eyes were on you.

By the time you made it to the small, smelly tavern, your ears were somewhat used to the whispers.

Geralt walked right up to the counter, where an older man was wiping down the surface with what looked like an already dirty cloth. The tavern had a few people littered around it, but it was still quite early.

“Got any rooms?” You peeked through the space between Geralt and Jaskier to peer at the man. He was frowning already — not a good sign.

“Barely. And definitely not…” He passed his eyes over all of you. “Three.”

“No, we only need one.”

That changed the man’s face. His eyebrows shot up, then quickly back down, a confused expression soon wafted away with a shrug.

“Fine by me. How much coin you got?”

This time, Jaskier answered. “How much do you need?”

“You bunch look like trouble.” He tilted his chin up. “So…double.”

“ _Double_ —“

“We’ll take it.” You shoved your way to the front, grabbing a bit of Jaskier’s arm in a pinch. He winced, turning to you with a hurt expression, but reached into his coin pouch nonetheless.

After he paid the tavern owner, he went to put his coin purse away, but you tightened your grip. “Actually, we were going to get some food as well.”

“ _We_ were?”

You ignored him and spoke through a synthetic smile. “Been traveling for quite a while. Food could do us some good.”

Despite his bitter tone, the man seemed to lower his guard at your change in tactics. “Could do us all some good, I reckon.”

“What’ve you got?” Geralt asked.

“Again, not much. But if you’re paying, we’ve got enough.”

You all turned to Jaskier, who still held his relatively hefty coin pouch. He looked back at you, and at the sight of your quirked eyebrow, he groaned.

“Fine, fine.” Again, he slammed the coin on the table, muttering as he put it away. “We’ll have that brought to our room, thank you.”

You flinched just as the man let out a cold laugh. “To your _room_.” He crossed his arms over his chest, his face back to a scowl. “What am I, your servant? Does this look like those fancy places you pay to shine your bloody shoes as you step into a warm _bath_?”

You stepped forward again, this time in front of Jaskier. The man’s scowl turned to you, barely lessening his glare.

“Sir, excuse my…partner. He isn’t right in the head after our trip here. Probably the lack of food—“ You leaned forward and placed a hand to the side of your mouth to block Jaskier’s view, “Which lead to a lack of manners.” When the man let out a dry laugh, you stepped back. “We’ll be fine at a table.”

“Sure you will.” And with that, the man shook his head and walked into the back room.

How these two ever survived on the road was a mystery to you. You assumed they had experience in small villages like this, especially because they traveled together often. How those trips went, you didn’t want to know. This was already toeing the line of being a disaster, and it had just begun.

Geralt took a seat at the counter, barely looking at the two of you. “I’ll wait here for the food.”

Fair enough. You practically dragged Jaskier with you to an empty table, not that they were hard to find. It was a weird time between the usual lunch and dinner rush hours, so not many people were accompanying you at the tavern. Either way, the village was quite small and you doubted it would be crowded in the first place.

You sat down across from Jaskier, keeping an eye on the main door. Even though the coast seemed clear now, you didn’t want to take any chances. But of course, Jaskier was there to distract you.

He was staring at you again, but this time with a small smile. It was infuriating.

You couldn’t help the sharpness of your voice, “ _What_.”

“You know, maybe after all of this assassin stuff, you should be an actress.”

You couldn’t hold back a snort. But in an instant, your smile faltered. Rauf said something similar to you the night you got this assignment. The night where all you wanted to do was kill the man in front of you. And now…well, you were far from that.

You settled on a shrug.

Surely Jaskier knew something was on your mind; by now, he was used to the way you tensed up whenever you actually felt comfortable, how whenever the slightest amount of genuine emotion peeked out you immediately shut it down. So, naturally, he decided to push you further.

“Why do you kill, anyway?”

Your eyes snapped back to him. You supposed a question like this was coming, as it usually did. But something about him asking it was surprising. Like maybe…he was better than that.

You shook your head at the thought. Better than what? Every other person who didn’t understand the life you lead? It wasn’t uncommon, and it shouldn’t have disappointed you in the slightest.

But it did. 

“Why do you ask?”

“Well,” he placed his palms flat on the table. “I know you said you kill people who are…monsters. But…why?”

You reached for the knife on your wrist, dragging a finger along its sheath. “I was taught every person has a monster inside of them, waiting to snap. Some people never do. Others...kill their wives and sell their children. Or other variants.”

“Yes, I understand that.” You looked back up at him, where he was staring at you intently. “But _why_.”

His eyes were focused on you, and only you. It made you straighten your posture, roll back your shoulders. You knew why. Of course you knew why. And your first instinct was to just tell him. What’s a sad back story if it doesn’t get told? But your second instinct, the one Rauf’s voice controlled, was telling you to keep your mouth shut.

This time, you listened. “I don’t know.”

“Hm,” Jaskier sat back in his chair, continuing to look you over with his infuriatingly casual curiosity. “How strange.”

“What?”

“From what I understand, when you look at people, you see…sin. Monsters. But I see…stories.” His eyes shifted just past your head, focusing on something behind you. He jutted his chin out. “Him. What do you see when you look at him?”

You sighed, but twisted in your seat to look behind you. You assumed he was talking about the man in the back of the tavern, sitting alone. The man’s eyes were stuck to his glass, which held barely any liquid. He had what you assumed was the rest of his coin laid out on the table — definitely not enough to pay for more alcohol.

You turned back to Jaskier. ”I see a sad old man.”

“Right, but—” He looked past you again, this time taking in the old man’s features himself. Then, he turned back to you. “Look at his hands. Those are a poet’s hands — worn from hours of writing of longing and heartbreak. I would know.”

You snorted, but decided to let him continue.

“He was a poet, a good one at that. One who was just gaining popularity from the masses. He was striving— until he lost his muse. A terrible accident, I suppose. Perhaps in a shipwreck—“

You snorted again. “Or a bandit attack.”

He practically jumped up in his seat. “Now you’re getting it!” You couldn’t help the twitch of a smile as he leaned forward. “Maybe in his life he stole some things — a quill for his poetry, a ring for his love — but that was just one small part of his life.”

You considered the bard. His eyes were sparkling once again, and he smiled back at you with sincerity.

“Surely you don’t think every crime is inexcusable.”

“Of course not. But sometimes the… _otherwise seen as_ , monstrous things we do…are just one chapter in our books.”

Just then, a plate of food was slammed on the table between you two — Geralt settled in the spot next to Jaskier, barely realizing the conversation he just interrupted.

But seemingly, so did Jaskier. His attention was now on the food in front of him. “That’s what 50 coin got us?”

Geralt nodded. “Looks like it.”

Jaskier only mumbled his curses, resorting to eating the food even though he was vexed as he did so. It didn’t take long for the three of you to finish it all, though you had soon found that your appetite was gone. Perhaps it was what Julian had said to you — though, you would hate to admit it, he often surprised you; where you expected him to be like everyone else, he changed his tune and left you…virtually speechless. You didn’t know if you hated it or enjoyed it, but either way, it made you uncomfortable.

You were all ready to retire to the room, but none of you verbalized it. At that point, you were just sitting there and staring at each other, almost daring the others to get up first. In your defense, you just didn’t want to have to spend another day holed up in a room, though you knew you had no other choice.

That was before the man came into the tavern.

He was distraught, to say the least. His eyes were sunken in, the bags under them showing he hadn’t gotten sleep in…maybe days. He was holding a small stack of parchments with a shaky hand, the desperation seeping off of him like the stench of alcohol.

It was a mistake to look at him long enough that he caught your eye. You turned away, knowing it was probably too late.

“Excuse me.” He was standing at the edge of your table, his features more prominent now that he was up close. He was looking at you with his pleading eyes, and you couldn’t help but look away.

Jaskier waved him off. “We don’t have any spare coin, good sir.”

“No, I…that’s not what I need.” You looked back up in time to see he was looking at Geralt. “You have two swords. Are you…a witcher?”

“Why yes, yes he is!” Jaskier perked up; his bright smile was unsettling for once in this atmosphere — it was the direct opposite of whatever this man was feeling.

“Oh, thank the gods. I need your assistance.”

“Sorry, can’t help you.”

You frowned. Geralt turning down a job didn’t seem normal. To be fair, you barely knew him, but still. You guessed he declined because of Jaskier’s situation, but then again, this man was clearly in a hardship.

Your own voice surprised yourself. “What’s the problem?”

The man turned to you again, relief filling his features. He reached into his pile and pulled out a single parchment, placing it on the table in front of you.

“It’s my daughter. She’s missing.”

Your eyes narrowed at the sketch in front of you. It was the same one you saw at Novigrad on the notice board. The young girl made of charcoal looked back at you with a sad expression.

You had to tear your eyes away. “I saw this poster in Novigrad. Are you from the city?”

The man shook his head. “No. I live in a small cabin just outside of the village, near the river. I’m a fisherman. My brother lives closer to the city — I had him hang up some posters there.”

He wasn’t from the city, meaning he was practically harmless. Well, you didn’t know of his past, but at least you knew he probably wasn’t an assassin.

You shifted in your seat. “How long has she been missing?”

“Around three days.” He must have noticed the tension around your table; his voice was at the brink of begging for help. “Please, I’ve tried everything. I...I don’t have much, but I can pay you.”

You bit your lip. It took everything within you to not jump on this assignment. If it had been three days, the young girl was either being held captive…or she was dead. But her father was desperate, like any good father would be. Even finding out what happened to her would be better than letting him suffer at the end of each day, not knowing why his daughter was gone.

“I think we can help you.” Your head shot up at the sound of Jaskier’s voice. Jaskier. Of the three of you, he was not the one you expected to want to help someone else. But when you shifted your gaze to him, he was already looking at you. He winked, then turned to Geralt. “Right, Geralt?”

The witcher grunted and grabbed the parchment that was laid in front of you. You and Jaskier shared a glance before turning back to him, waiting to see his response.

He looked up at the father, whose hands were holding the rest of his parchments with a nervous grip. “Where was the last place you saw her?”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding a lost child might be harder than you thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to anyone who commented, I really appreciate it! This chapter is a bit shorter than usual, whoopsss but next chapter will be full of action so get pumped :D

“What a beautiful piece of land you have here.” Jaskier’s smile was genuine as he gestured to the cabin in front of you. The man, who you learned was called Toby, could only nod, his eyes nervous as he looked between all of you.

The walk here wasn’t long at all — it was just outside the village, closer to the entrance of the woods and a large body of water. It was the perfect spot for a fisherman, but still risky with the woods right in the backyard. Unless Toby was a hunter as well, having the open forest in your backyard was pretty much a death sentence. Monsters lurked, day and night, and often strayed from their forest home.

The cabin itself was in pretty good condition — no major damage, and though it was small, it was big enough for a father and daughter. Hell, it was much bigger than the place you used to call home, but you pushed that thought aside as you followed Toby around the outside of the house.

Toby cleared his throat. “I last saw my daughter playing in the back, as usual. I turned my back, just for a moment, and then she was gone.”

Jaskier frowned. “Just like that?”

“Well, I thought she just went to play in the woods. Sometimes she’d just run off after a squirrel, or go pick a flower for me. So I didn’t think much of it.”

“The woods are pretty dangerous for a child.” You lifted your chin up; a challenge.

Toby was quick to answer. “We have a hunter in town who goes in there to check around, make sure no large…beasts are…lurking. I usually go with my daughter when she runs off, but this time—“

You nodded, taking a step back from him. Part of you felt guilty for inquiring about his parenting, especially because of the hurt look in his eyes. But you wanted to make sure that when you found this little girl, she would be returning to a safe home.

Geralt quickly filled the silence, “How long until you looked for her?”

“It wasn’t that long before I started to worry. I went out to look for her, where she usually went. There’s a small stream in the woods that she likes to play in. That’s where I found this.”

He walked up to his back porch and grabbed something. When he came back to the three of you, his eyes were glazed over. In his hands was a small doll, stitched with a smile that made your stomach drop.

Toby looked at it carefully, his hands shaking under its weight. “Her mother made it for her. Before she—“ He stopped, swallowing a sob. The three of your stood quietly, waiting patiently for him to compose himself. Once he did, his jaw was clenched with anger. “She’s only a child, but she wouldn’t run off without her doll, not this one. I fear that she was…taken.”

“Taken?” You stepped forward, making Toby look at you. He shamefully looked away, back toward the edge of the woods.

“Bandits have been traveling around these parts recently. Stole from Ivon’s farm just up the road.”

“And where were they seen last?”

“Just up the trail, yesterday. You don’t think they—“

Geralt spoke before you could, his voice as cold as usual but somehow, reassuring. “We’ll follow the trail in the woods first, try to track her from there.”

Toby nodded, his eyes still lingering on the forests’ edge, almost like his daughter would emerge any second. You followed his gaze, taking a deep breath as you searched for something that wasn’t there. You wondered what your mother or father would have done if this happened to you as a child — if they were still alive. Would they be as concerned as Toby? Would they post parchments all over the village and in the city, doing anything they could to find you?

This case shouldn’t have been affecting you this much. It was simple: find a little girl. You shouldn’t have been thinking so deeply into it.

_Get the job done. Get the pay. Then leave._

Rauf’s voice left your mind as soon as you heard Toby’s, an almost polar opposite to your iteration of Rauf’s. Toby’s was small and frightened — broken. “I like to think I’m a good father.”

You peeled your eyes from the woods and back to Toby. His hands were wringing at the doll in his hands before one of them reached up to wipe the beads of sweat that were pouring down his face. You stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder, the look in your eyes just as set as your firm jaw.

“We’ll find her,” you said. And you meant it.

“What’s her name? The girl?” You didn’t realize Jaskier was writing in his notebook until just then. His face was stern — there wasn’t a spark of malcontent, though you wouldn’t blame Toby for being angry that he was jotting down details.

But Toby didn’t seem to mind at all. Instead, he stepped forward, nodded Jaskier on. “Lilla.” Then, he turned back to you, his eyes full of hope. “And here, you should take this. In case you find her.” He handed you the doll, and you took it gently, knowing this meant the world to his little girl.

“When we find her,” you corrected, then gestured to the doll that was now in your hands. “She’ll be happy to have it.”

“Let’s go. We’ve only got so much time before dark.” Geralt turned towards Toby, “We’ll come back here as soon as we find something.”

“Okay. Thank you, again.”

Geralt didn’t answer and instead began walking towards the woods. You nodded to Toby, grabbed Jaskier by the arm, and followed after him.

—

The quiet noise of the woods surrounded you as the three of you followed the little girl — Lilla’s — tracks. Though it was three days past when she was presumably there, Geralt’s senses were heightened to the point where he could still make out a clear enough trail. You and Jaskier followed behind him, practically useless at the moment.

To be honest, you were worried. About Lilla, yes, but also about being in the open. You had doubts that anything would happen to Jaskier out here — you were far from the city, and you hadn’t noticed any strange people lurking in the village. Still, being so vulnerable made your skin crawl, and every now and then you felt a chill go up your spine.

Then again, it was probably better that the three of you were on the move rather than being sitting ducks at that small tavern. There was less of a chance for any other assassins to find you now, especially since you were in the middle of the woods. You guessed the mere idea of being on the run, needing to hide — it made you want to stay inside until you could figure this out. But now, that wasn’t an option.

You turned your attention to Jaskier. He was walking beside you, more quiet than usual. His eyes were glued to the pages of his notebook, which he was scribbling who knows what in the pages. His face was scrunched in concentration, not even noticing the small amount of hair that was falling in his eyes. You let yourself smile, just for a moment, before remembering when Toby first approached your table at the tavern. Despite the voice in the back of your head telling you to stay quiet, you couldn’t help your curiosity.

“Why did you want to take this job?” You asked. Jaskier looked up hesitantly, as if he wasn’t sure you were talking to him. Once he realized you were, he shrugged.

“I’m always looking for a new adventure.”

You rolled your eyes — he was a bad liar.

Instead of calling him out, you continued to stare at him, waiting for him to break.

He scoffed. “I didn’t want to stay in another room for hours on end.”

You blinked.

“Fine.” Jaskier shoved his notebook in his pocket, this time avoiding your eyes. “When Toby was explaining everything, you looked really…concerned. And from the short amount of time I’ve known you, you would never admit it. So I said something.”

You were silent for a second, and found yourself looking up at the darkening sky.

“I’m thankful you did.”

Jaskier’s head snapped up, his nose scrunched in confusion.“Really?”

You nodded, a smile creeping on your face. A sigh soon escaped your lips. “The thought of a child, alone and scared—“ You shook your head. “I’m glad we didn’t walk away.”

“Me too.” Jaskier smiled his contagious smile, eyes twinkling in the near darkness.

“Stop.” You ripped your gaze away from Jaskier, almost walking into Geralt. He was kneeled down on the ground, his fingers tracing the dirt below.

You looked around, eyes stopping on a small stream. This must be where Toby found the doll.

“Her tracks end here.” He stood up, eyes scanning the surrounding area. You looked around the area, trying to find any other tracks. You definitely weren’t as skilled as Geralt, being that his witcher senses made him, well, super human, but Rauf had taught you a thing or two about tracking.

You stopped short, just a couple feet from the stream. “There are more tracks over here.”

Geralt walked over, careful not to disturb the marks. “Two sets.”

You sighed, “Shit.”

“What does that mean?” Jaskier stood a little aways from the two of you, trying to stay still so he didn’t compromise the tracks.

“Most likely?” You met Jaskier’s gaze. “Bandits.”

Geralt walked back the other way, along the stream. His eyes were trained on the ground, face scrunched in a frown. “They must have snatched her up, taken her that way.” He continued walking forward, and with a grunt, turned back to you. ”The tracks are still clear.”

Jaskier scratched under his chin, then rubbed a hand over his face. Though he was a couple feet away, you could see the fear in his eyes. But it wasn’t fear for himself.

He spoke, “What do we do? Go tell Toby that it was bandits?”

You shook your head, trudging over to him through the dirt. “There’s no time. It’s already been three days. Who knows what’s happened since then.”

“So…what does that mean?”

“It means,” you turned to Geralt, who nodded slightly at you with a knowing glance. You turned to Jaskier with a sigh. “We’re going to invade a bandit camp."


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things are especially worth fighting for.

“ _Invade_ a bandit camp? What…exactly…does that entail?”

You kept your eyes forward, trying to keep up with Geralt’s fast pace while also listening to Jaskier. Almost immediately after the three of you left the stream to follow the  
bandit’s tracks, Jaskier was asking ten questions a second. You tried to be patient with him, but at this point, he was getting under your skin.

“It entails us going in there, finding the girl—” You turned to the bard, your eyes meeting his in a serious regard, “And you _staying behind_.”

Surprisingly, he didn’t argue at that. Instead, he asked another question.

“How do we even know there’s a camp?”

“They’re not going to be in the village, and if they were, we would’ve seen them,” You spoke again before he could ask the question you assumed he would. “There’s at least four or five of them. They travel in somewhat bigger groups so it’s easier to raid farms and such. If they weren’t hiding out here, the village would’ve been taken over when we got there. Which is also how we know there aren’t that many of them.”

Jaskier’s mouth hung agape, quickly closing shut at the realization that you had answered all of his questions. He gave a curt nod and turned back towards Geralt, who was already a couple more feet ahead of the two of you. You both instinctively quickened your steps, making sure to keep a safe amount of distance from Geralt while also being close enough just in case.

The sound of all of your steps in the forest overtook the silence for a moment. The moment was short-lived, but this time, Jaskier’s voice was quiet, only directed at you.

“Why do you think they took her to the camp?”

You faltered. It was something you…hadn’t really wanted to think about. The only things that came to your mind were bad ones: they could’ve tortured her to the point where she wished she was dead, tortured her until she was dead, or just killed her right away. Of course, there was the slim chance that they hadn’t done anything to her — _yet_. But that chance was not one you were willing to take.

Jaskier’s eyes stayed on you as you let out a sigh. “If what I think is right, it’s not good.” You turned to him, clenching your jaw as you swallowed the lump in your throat. “Let’s hope I’m wrong.”

Geralt continued to lead the three of you as he followed the track marks. It didn’t take too long for him to stop and direct you all behind a hefty log, but by then the sun was almost past the horizon. Still, Geralt’s skill proved themselves respectable, as if it were just you tracking it would have taken way, way longer to find the camp.

You were all a safe distance away from the sounds of laughter and distant conversation. There was a small camp, but big enough to be surrounded by barrels of what you assumed was stolen goods, as well as makeshift walls against any intruders or monsters of the likes. There were some torches set up on the edges of the camp — the bandits must have planned to stay there for a while. From where you were squatted, you could see eight men — more than you originally thought. 

“So what do we do now?”

You snapped your head towards Jaskier, your voice in a sharp whisper, “We do nothing.”

“What? I can’t let you go in there by yourselves!”

You scrunched your nose, “Why _not_?”

“Because — well, something could happen, and I’ll need to be there to help—“

“No. Definitely not.” You turned back to the camp, making sure all the men were still there. “You stay here.”

“Geralt—”

You didn’t let Geralt respond. “I’m supposed to be watching over you, remember?”

“Bringing me to find a missing girl at a bandit camp is not exactly keeping me safe, is it?”

You pursed your lips. He was right, but you didn’t want him to be, so you craned your neck to look around the forest. Even further away from the camp, you spotted a large bush.

You turned back to Jaskier and pointed at the spot. “There.”

Jaskier frowned, only looking at the place you pointed to for a second. “What?”

“Go wait it out over there, behind that bush.”

Jaskier blinked. “Are you _seriously_ asking me to hide behind a bush?”

“Not asking.” He stared at you, his eyes squinted in a challenge. You ignored it and reached for the doll attached to your belt. “And take this. I don’t want it getting ruined, and I don’t think Lilla will either.”

Despite looking like he wanted to argue, the bard placed his lips in a tight line, grabbed the doll, and snuck to the spot you pointed to, pretty much completely hiding himself from view. You huffed, trying to ignore the feeling of relief that came over you.

You kept your eyes on the camp and your voice low, “How do you want to do this?”

Geralt watched you from the corner of his eye, “Didn’t think you’d ask.”

You sighed and turned to the witcher. The corner of his mouth was twitched upwards — the smug bastard. You rolled your eyes and looked away before you wouldn’t be able to fight the urge to punch him in the face. “If we do this together, we do it _together_.”

“Hm.” Geralt pointed over the log you were crouched behind, “Looks like they’ve got a small cage. Whatever’s in there needs to be let out.”

“Think we should go in together, fight our way through?”

“No.” He shook his head, “Don’t want to risk her getting hurt, if she isn’t already. We go in, try to find the key.”

“It’ll probably be on one of them. We’ll need to fight anyway.”

“Right. But once we do find the key, you need to get her out of there.”

You nodded, feeling your own lips lift into a smirk. “Eight guys is nothing.”

“We’ll see.” Geralt moved past you, sneaking so the trees blocked him from view. You took a deep breath, lifted your hood, and closed your eyes.

_Showtime_.

Following behind Geralt, the two of you weaved in and out of the trees while the bandits were distracted. You couldn’t help but notice your blood begin to boil as you got closer to the camp, where the cage grew clearer and clearer. You stretched your fingers and slid your knife from its sheath, gripping it for the first time in a while.

You were ready.

Finally, you and Geralt made it to the walls of the camp. You were on either side of the opening, where one of the bandits stood guard. Luckily, he was facing away from you, distracted by one of his friends. You turned to Geralt, eyes just barely visible from under your hood. With one simple nod, you spoke a thousand words — it only took three steps for you to sneak behind the guard and jab your knife into the side of his neck.

As soon as the blood squirted from the wound, another bandit screamed, “Get them!”

You saw the bandit lift his crossbow at you, and just as he loaded it, you kept the one man’s body in front of you, holding it up as a makeshift shield. The arrow sunk right into his flesh — you let the body fall to the ground as Geralt rushed past you, holding out his hand and simultaneously causing the man with the crossbow to fly backwards and into a pile of barrels.

You didn’t have time to react as another bandit came at you with a knife, screaming as he tried to sink it in your shoulder. You dodged it just in time, using the leverage to kick the already running man in the back. He lost his balance and fell with a grunt — just as you were about to jab your knife in his skull, a whizzing sound made you duck. The arrow stuck in the wall in front of you; you whipped your head around as the crossbow was being loaded again.

_Too slow_.

You ran at him, ignoring the fact that he was lifting the crossbow again. He shot at you, but you jumped to the side in time, where you heard a loud yelp. The bandit had hit one of his own — in his shock, he didn’t have time to stop you from pushing your knife into his heart.

“No!” The man who was hit lunged at you, despite the arrow sticking out of his arm. You fell to the ground, feeling his weight on top of your own, pinning you down. He immediately placed his hands around your neck, almost completely cutting your air off — but you didn’t let him. You swiftly lifted your knee to his groin, and he couldn’t help but loosen his grip. With the opening you had, you grabbed the arrow out of his arm and cut off his scream of agony by stabbing it right into his skull.

With a grunt, you shoved the bandit’s body off of you, bringing a hand to your neck as you tried to catch your breath.

Geralt’s voice brought you back to reality. He was crossing his sword with one bandit, teeth gritted in anger.

“Find the key!”

You nodded, despite the drop in your stomach. Who were you kidding — Geralt could handle himself. He was a _Witcher_ for the gods' sake.

You dug your hands into the recently deceased pockets, feeling around for anything. Then, your fingers felt cold metal.

“Got it!” You yelled, immediately making your way over to the metal cage.

Once you got there, sure enough, a little girl looked back at you. She was huddled in the corner, her knees to her chest as she looked at you with large pupils.

“I’m gonna get you out of here,” you breathed, lifting the key and unlocking the cell in one motion. You pulled the door open and held a hand out for the girl to take, only just realizing that it was covered in blood. You quickly wiped it on your pants and turned back to the girl. “I’m here to help you, Lilla. Your father sent me.”  
At the sound of her name, Lilla perked up. She hesitated, but began crawling towards you nonetheless, her movements weak. You helped her up and turned around — Geralt was still dealing with two other men, but he was definitely winning.

You kneeled down and took the little girl’s hands in your own. “Lilla, I need you to stay right behind me, okay? Do you promise?”

She nodded, her eyes flicking back to where Geralt had just cut off one of the bandit’s arms.

You stood up and hid her face behind you, keeping one of her hands captured in your own. You began walking towards the exit, one eye focused on Geralt.

“What the—“

You stopped in your tracks.

Three more men stood at the entrance of the camp, their faces of surprise immediately changing to anger at the sight of their dead friends.

“Shit.”

One ran at you with just his fists, sending a right hook right at your head. You dodged in time, simultaneously gripping your knife and jabbing it into the side of his skull.  
It was then that you realized the hand that was gripping Lilla’s was now empty. When you turned around, she was gone.  
But there was no time to think of that now. A sword was already being swung towards you, but you jumped back, feeling a swoosh of air along your stomach. The momentum of the swing caused the sword to hit right into one of the barrels, its blade stuck in the wood. The bandit tried to rip it out, his fearful eyes focused on the task. He only noticed you come up to him when your foot was already in the air, being stomped right down onto his arm, the bone twisting in an otherwise sickening crack.

While he fell to the ground in agony, you switched your knife to the opposite hand and threw it at the other bandit who had begun running toward you. He dodged it, a sneer settling onto his dirty face. Without a thought, you reached for the sword in the barrel and gave one quick tug, freeing it just in time for you to swing your body around and slice right through his neck. Not waiting to hear the satisfying thud of the bandit’s head on the forest floor, you turned back around and stuck the sword’s tip under the previously injured bandit’s chin.

“Please don’t—“

The blade was already through his throat.

A grunt from behind you made you spin on your heels. Geralt was dodging a man with a large bludgeon, who swung faithfully at his target. You reached down for the knife in your boot, lifted your arm, aimed, and released. The knife whirled through the air, and Geralt moved to the side just in time for it to land directly in between the bandit’s eyes.

Geralt huffed and turned to you with a nod.

You nodded back, letting out a sigh of relief at the mess of bodies around you. The fights were always tough, but they kept your blood pumping. The adrenaline felt good, strong, like your own personal drug.

Geralt didn’t bother wiping the sweat from his glistening forehead, “The girl?”

“She ran off.”

Geralt began walking out of the camp, his eyes glued to the ground. “Tracks go this way.” 

You were about to follow him when your eyes caught sight of a table. You walked over to it, stepping over the fallen bodies with careless eyes. As soon as you made it to the table, you grabbed the coins that were left out and shoved them in your pockets — Julian’s next meal would be on you. The rest of the table was lined with knives, an ax, more arrows —and a piece of parchment, rolled up.

You looked back towards the entrance of the camp; Geralt was already out of sight, but it wouldn’t be too hard to find him again. Besides, after an assignment like this you couldn’t help but let curiosity got the best of you. You reached forward and unrolled the paper: immediately, you realized it was one of the missing girl posters that Toby had placed in the village and towns nearby.

You clenched your jaw and crumpled up the paper in one hand, nearly slamming the paper ball back on the table. It was then that you noticed another piece of parchment that was hidden under it.

It was a short note:

_Keep the girl until the rest arrive. They’ll know where to bring her.  
— Hotch_

“Y/N,” Geralt’s voice called.

“Yeah, coming.” You frowned, stuffing the note in your pocket as you turned around.

You jogged back to the entrance and snapped your head to the left, where Geralt was looking at the dirt.

“The tracks stopped here,” he muttered, but you could hear him from your spot.

“What?” You rushed over, eyes searching the ground. He was right — there were no more prints. “So she was taken _again_? What the hell do they want with this little girl?”

“I don’t know.” Geralt frowned, but his eyes trailed the darkening sky. You could tell he was thinking the same thing: if she wasn’t taken by more bandits, she was alone. And a young girl alone in these woods, no matter how safe Toby may have said they were — it wasn’t good. Your eyes trailed to Geralt, whose frown was more defined than usual. Then, he noticed you looking at him, “We’ll find her. But first we should get Jaskier.”

“Shit.” _Jaskier_. If the girl had disappeared, then the bandits may have found him too. You ran off towards the bush, heart hammering in your chest.

You rounded to edge of the bush, blinking at the sight. There was no one there. You had to squint to make sure the bard wasn’t blending into the ground.

“Looking for someone?” You swiveled on your feet, turning just in time to see Jaskier, who was standing with a big smile. You rolled your eyes, trying to push down the fear that began rising in your chest at the thought of him being taken. You were about to yell at him for leaving the hiding spot, but you bit your tongue as your eyes trailed downward, where Lilla peeked out from behind his legs.

You couldn’t hide the laugh that escaped your lips, “Son of a bitch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and kudos! Don't be afraid to let me know your thoughts! :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past is more than just memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Huge thank you to all the new commenters, I really appreciate your feedback and hope you continue to give more <3 Though this one isn't one of them, there will definitely be more action-packed chapters to come :) Okay, enough of that, enjoy!

The darkness fell quicker than any of you were prepared for, and you all agreed that camping out the night in the forest would be the safest for Lilla. Traveling with a young girl in the woods at night, no matter how safe Toby said it was, was not a good idea. So, the three of you got to work on setting up camp — and by three of you, it was mostly just you and Geralt. Jaskier was focused on strumming his lute for Lilla to dance to.

The girl had come out of her shocked state quicker than you’d expected. Not long after the three of you were searching for a place to set up camp, her giggles were among the noises of the forest. Jaskier was keeping Lilla occupied, which you had to admit you were thankful for. Still, it was hard for you to imagine what the bard told you had happened: he saw the girl running from the camp and rushed towards her, grabbing her and carrying her off before she could get any deeper into the woods. The idea of Jaskier swooping the little girl in his arms without a fuss seemed less than plausible, but then you saw her clutching the doll that you made him hold, and it made sense.

“Jaskier, play another!” Lilla’s voice echoed in the night, making you wince. You were glad to see the little girl smiling, especially after her fear stricken face was embedded in your mind. Still, you didn’t know what was in these woods — bandits of the same group could still be lurking, searching for the girl they worked so hard to keep to themselves.

Jaskier must have caught your tensed features, because he instead sat against a nearby tree. “Maybe we should settle for now, yeah?” You let out a sigh of relief when Lilla sat down next to him, leaning against the same tree. You couldn’t help the way your lips twitched into a smile at how close the two had gotten in what seemed like minutes. Still, something tugged inside of you as you looked at the girl, wondering what happened to her while she was taken.

You tore your gaze away, trying to rid yourself of those thoughts. What mattered now was that she was safe, and soon to be home. You felt yourself grow antsy as Geralt started up the fire.

You kneeled across from him, throwing another stick into the growing flame. “The girl must be hungry. Maybe we should find her something—“

“I’ll go.” Geralt stood up without hesitation and grabbed his swords, his eyes determined and glinting in the light of the fire. It seemed like mere seconds before he disappeared through the trees, leaving before you could argue.

You cleared your throat, suddenly nervous to be alone with the young girl and the bard. You were never particularly good with children, but you also didn’t seek out their company. 

“Excuse me.” You looked over to Lilla, whose doe eyes were blinking up at you, “What’s your name?”

That was the second time you were taken aback by the simple question. You sucked in a breath and settled against the tree just beside her, despite your inner protest.

“Y/N.” You jutted your chin towards the toy in her hands. “Does your doll have a name?”

“Madelina. After my mother.” She hugged it tightly, bringing her knees to her chest, “My mother is dead.”

You blinked quickly at her blunt words. Toby had mentioned that her mother had passed, so it wasn’t the _fact_ that surprised you. It was the forwardness of the girl’s words. She wasn’t afraid of the truth, almost barely phased, which was something that was second nature to you ever since Rauf watched over you. You felt a tug at your heart that made you frown.

After a second, you responded, “So is mine.”

Lilla met your eyes once again, this time in a sort of — understanding. “I miss her. Do you miss your mom?”

You closed your eyes, fighting the swelling that rose in your chest, “Yes.” It was the simplest answer you could give, but it didn’t feel simple at all. You missed your mother, so much, and it made it even worse when you thought about it — which is why you were glad to hear the strum of the lute.

“How about that song, Lilla?” You opened your eyes once again to see Jaskier looking at you, just for a moment, before looking back to the girl.

She nodded her head, but instead of keeping her focus on the bard, she turned to you.

“Jaskier is a bard. That…man is—” She cut herself off, her nose scrunching as she forgot the name.

“A witcher,” You finished for her, an amused smile falling on your features.

She nodded, her eyes trained on you, “What are you?”

Your mouth opened to respond, but the words died on your tongue. You weren’t about to tell a little girl that you were an _assassin._ The word alone had a negative connotation that you didn’t think would be swayed even if you explained it to the child. Morals weren’t exactly easy to understand, even for most adults. Telling Lilla that you only killed bad people might be as easy as telling her what really happened to people after they died. You tried to come up with something else to say, but your brain fell short.

You were surprised to hear another voice interrupt your thoughts. “Y/N is…a spy.” Jaskier winked at you, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “There’s no better one I’ve ever met. And I’ve met a lot of people.”

“Wow.” Lilla’s eyes widened as she looked at you, even more-so than when Jaskier previously told her the story of the dragon.

“Oh, but you can't tell anyone.” Jaskier feigned a frown, his voice laced with a false sternness that made you nearly crack a smile. But you kept your stoic expression, your own eyes crinkling as you met his.

You cleared your throat, eyes finding Lilla’s, “It’s very important that you keep this information to yourself, Lilla. I trust you with that — and trust is…not easy to come by.” You found yourself looking back to Jaskier whose lips twitched into a smile.

“Especially from Y/N. You’re lucky if you get that. Really lucky.” His eyes stayed on yours despite Lilla stifling a yawn. You searched his eyes, the same eyes that you once wanted to see the light go out of. It was strange how much could change in a short amount of time, though it seemed like forever. And it was strange that this bard was alive because you were the one put on his assignment, that he had the witcher to defend him, that you didn’t slit his throat when you had the chance. And now here you were, sitting in the same campsite with a girl you had just rescued from bandits. Everything led to this moment, and would have lead to this moment, whether you expected it to or not.

You ripped your gaze from him as heat rose to your cheeks, instead moving your eyes to the still glistening fire.

_Luck_. It was luck, indeed.

—

It didn’t take long after that for Lilla’s eyes to grow heavier and heavier. She sat between you and Jaskier, who was playing a soft tune that was so soothing that you yourself were feeling its effects. You kept your eyes open, though, as Lilla descended into a calm sleep state, finally succumbing to the rest and leaning her head in your lap. As soon as she fell asleep, your eyes were practically glued open, determined to keep the child safe.

There was something about the small girl that made you want to tear off the limbs of anyone who hurt her. Maybe it was her age, or naivety — but part of you knew it wasn’t just that. She reminded you of yourself as a child, before everything seemed to fall in front of your eyes. You were like her — fearless, but still _afraid_. You learned it then — and you hoped Lilla learned now — that her father, her home, her _stability…_ was something to hold onto. And to never let go.

“She likes you.” Jaskier’s voice startled you. In the dim light of the fire you could tell his eyes were closed as he leaned his head against the tree, but still, he was smiling.

You snorted a laugh, being sure to keep quiet as the girl snored lightly.

“She does.”

“She likes you too.”

This time Jaskier snorted. “ _Everyone_ likes me.”

“Mm-hm.” You allowed yourself to smile wide, shaking your head as you kept your eyes on the man beside you. He finally opened his eyes, just catching the end of your smirk.

“Where did you live? Before all…this.” He gestured to your body — you guessed he was referring to your armor, your lifestyle.

“Why do you assume I lived any other way?”

Jaskier rolled his head along the tree behind him to face you, his eyebrows raising in defiance. You couldn’t help but notice how bright his eyes shined even in a night like this one. “If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have saved this little girl.” He let his mouth hang open slightly, placing his tongue between his teeth as he waited for the argument he knew you couldn’t give. “So, where did you live?”

You shook your head, smile playing on your lips. The bard was annoying, sure, but he knew how to get information out of people. You felt the nagging in the back of your head telling you to bite your tongue — but what harm could come from speaking vaguely of your past?

You clicked your tongue, avoiding Jaskier’s prominent gaze. “I lived in a small village. Not much different from this one. Only — it was smaller. Weaker.”

Jaskier’s eyebrows furrowed. “Weaker. Meaning not safe?”

“Meaning _weak_.” You sighed, the memories rushing back to the front of your mind. “The people weren’t ready for the world outside of the village.”

“Were you?”

You shrugged, looking down at the girl in your lap, “I was a child.”

Part of you wanted to kick yourself, the part that couldn’t get Rauf’s voice to quiet down. _Being young doesn’t mean you can’t be strong_ , he’d say as your eyes brimmed with tears. _Crying is weak. You need to be strong._

You shook the memory away, biting the inside of your cheek with a sigh. That was one of his many lessons that you still disagreed with to this day, though you wouldn’t admit that now.

“Your mother died when you were young, then?”

You snapped your eyes to the bard’s, the breath nearly being knocked out of you. He barely faltered, soft eyes meeting your cold ones with no fear embedded in them. You blinked slowly once you realized he had no malcontent, taking a deep breath as you looked away. Talking about yourself, about your past, was a bad idea. It was painful and only distracted you, especially when you needed to be alert.

You shook your head and ignored the bard’s gaze. It wasn’t something you wanted to talk about. It wasn’t something you were _ready_ to talk about. So you didn’t. And maybe a little quiet would make him take the hint.

Of course, it didn’t.

“Did they hurt her?“ When you looked back at him, his eyes were on Lilla’s sleeping body — but the soft gaze he once had was angry, maybe even _furious_. You opened and closed your mouth, nearly taken aback by his features.

Finally, you responded, “I don’t know. She doesn’t have any bruises or marks—” Jaskier’s eyes met yours once more, his face returning to the one you grew to know — a warm gaze, though his features were still tense. You couldn’t blame him; your own eyes hardened at the thought of Lilla’s fearful face. Whatever happened to her, it was permanent. It was hopefully the most fear she would have to feel in her life, but even so, the memory would never fade away, not even when happier ones might be strong enough to replace it.

You sighed, shaking your head. “She’ll never forget this. Ever. And that’s much, _much_ worse.”

Jaskier licked his lips and wiped a hand over his face. “I cannot even fathom—“ He closed his eyes, forcing the words out of his mouth. “I cannot even fathom what she will go through. What she _has_ been through.”

You slammed your mouth shut, your lips forming into a tight line. The bard meant well, but something about his tone — his naivety — made you angry. From the girl, you would expect, but him? He traveled with a witcher. He had seen his fair share of what happens in the world, to people, to children. Maybe he was one of the people who chose to ignore the chaos around him, to live with the way people treated each other and got away with it. Maybe he never had to live through something like that, something so awful that you couldn’t sleep at night without nightmares plaguing your mind.

And maybe he was lucky for it.

You clenched your jaw, voice coming out harsher than you meant for it to, “She’ll get through it. She _has_ to. We all do.”

The fire was dying now, embers slowly gravitating towards the night sky. You watched the fading flames flick towards the sky, reaching for more life.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was gentler than before, but in the quiet of the forest, you could hear it loud and clear.

Your heart beat aggressively against your chest as you turned to look at him. “For what?”

He searched your face, his concern-laced eyes making your stomach flip. “For whatever happened to you.”

You opened your mouth to respond, though you didn’t know if you had anything to say. Before you could find out, the sound of footsteps nearly made you jolt from your spot on the ground, your hand instinctively reaching for your knife. You let yourself slink backward when you realized it was the witcher, heart still beating rabidly against your chest.

“Caught some rabbit.” He said, sliding his sword back in its sheath. He was oblivious to the conversation he had interrupted, or even if he wasn’t, he didn’t care.

“She’s asleep.” You gestured to the girl in your lap despite the witcher’s eyes lingering on the darkness of the forest.

“Breakfast, then.” He looked at you, to the girl in your lap, then to the bard. You thought he might’ve rolled his eyes if not for his dedication to hiding most of his emotions. “I’ll keep watch.”

You would’ve argued, but something made you bite your tongue. Maybe it was Lilla’s sleeping body, or the way your heart was still trying to slow itself down. You ignored Jaskier’s eyes on you, despite the desire to look back. At this point, you just wanted to close your eyes and let the world fade away, just for a bit. Besides, the girl on your lap wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, and neither was the bard. And you didn’t know if that was a good thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> geralt, witcher, also known as a disrupter of heartfelt conversations >:(  
> Let me know your thoughts! <3


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One reunion leads to another goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always thanks for all the comments and love! I really appreciate y'all <3

Morning came relatively quickly despite the fact that you didn’t sleep a wink. It pained you to nudge the girl in your lap asleep, even more-so when she woke up with fear in her eyes. The fear washed away as soon as she saw who she was with, but you couldn’t help the anger that filled your veins at just how much her initial reaction reminded you of yourself.

Before you knew it, the three of you had eaten the rabbits Geralt caught the night before (with most of them going towards Lilla — though none of your admitted it, you pretended you weren’t all that hungry just so she would get her fair share), and soon you were headed back to the small cabin to reunite the daughter and father. Ever since that night, Lilla had been glued to your side instead of Jaskier’s — he only made three jabs about it on the way back, all of them only making you smirk in response.

When you made it to the edge of the woods, and as soon as you saw the cabin in view, Lilla bolted towards the home with her arms outstretched towards Toby.

“Daddy!”

Toby looked up from the porch, and though you couldn’t quite see his face from where you were, you could tell he was crying.

“There’s nothing quite like a family reunion,” Jaskier said beside you, turning to you with a smile. The smile wasn’t exactly happy; there was a sadness in his eyes just as your own. Neither of you said it, but you both knew you would miss the little girl when you left.

As for Geralt, you couldn’t tell. He definitely wasn’t ecstatic, but he wasn’t sobbing either. He had already begun walking over to the two, not bothered by the fact that he might be intruding on a precious moment. Either way, you and Jaskier followed in suit.

“I can’t thank you enough. Really, I can’t.” Toby clutched Lilla to his side, not bothering to wipe his tears. “Where did you find her?”

You faltered. Explaining that his daughter was stuck in a locked cage with a bunch of bandits wasn’t exactly _easy_. But Lilla didn’t seem to mind.

“There were bad men, daddy. They locked me away.”

Toby’s fear-filled eyes turned back to yours, asking for more explanation. This time, Geralt took over.

“Bandits. We don’t know why they had her, but from the looks of it, they didn’t hurt her.” 

You bit your tongue. _At least not_ physically.

Toby nodded and patted down his daughter’s hair. “Thank the gods you got there in time.” 

You looked back to the woods and tapped the knife hidden on your wrist. If you had left any later, or not gone to this small village with Jaskier and Geralt, this little girl may not be alive. You never believed in fate, but something inside you was saying that this wasn’t chance. 

You blinked away the thought when Toby grabbed your hand, placing a coin pouch in your palm.

“Here. It’s the least I could do.”

You frowned at the pouch in your hand. It was light, hardly enough to feed the two people in front of you for a couple of days, much less a week. Despite the lack of coin in the pouch, it began to weigh your hand down, so much so that you pushed your hand back out towards him. “We don’t need it.” You were surprised to not hear so much of a groan from the bard or witcher beside you.

Toby frowned, his eyes still glazed over from the tears that fell. “What do you mean?”

“We found coin at the camp she was being held. Enough to hold us over.” You shifted under his gaze; he wasn’t convinced. Stretching your hand further towards him, you lifted your eyebrows and nodded, “Really. It’s fine.”

Toby looked to Jaskier and Geralt, both who just nodded back. He took the pouch delicately with a nod. “Thank you. I don’t know if I can say it enough.”

You watched as Toby placed a kiss atop Lilla’s head, crushing her into another hug. You felt a tap on your arm; Jaskier tilted his head to where Geralt had already begun walking away, his eyes squinting at you in question.

He turned back to the small family, “We’ll leave you to it, then.” Jaskier nodded at you and began walking forward as well, following after the witcher. You took a couple steps forward, but something kept you from continuing on. You turned back around, eyes falling on the little girl once more.

“If it’s alright,” you heard yourself saying, causing Toby and Lilla to look up at you. You cleared your throat and walked back over to them, ignoring the quickened pace of your heartbeat. “If it’s alright, I’d like to give Lilla something.”

“You’ve already given us so much—“

“Please.” 

Toby relented, watching as kneeled down and you reached into the side of your boot, pulling out the small knife you kept in there. 

You trailed a finger along its handle. “Despite what happened to you, I doubt you’ll stop venturing out on your adventures.” You sighed, moving your eyes back to Toby. He nodded, a silent approval of what you were going to do. 

You held out the knife and flipped it so the handle was toward Lilla, “The least you could do, for yourself and your father, is have something to protect yourself.” Lilla eagerly reached forward, but you pulled your hand back. “Only use it if you have to.”

Lilla gave a single nod, “I will.”

You looked into the little girl’s eyes like you were looking into your own. She was strong, brave — a fighter. She needed someone to speak to her like this, especially at her age. Like Rauf did for you. She didn’t have to be helpless, but she could also keep some of her innocence, as long as the world would allow. As long as her father was there to teach her, to guide her — because not everyone gets that chance.

You held out the knife towards her again, this time letting her take it delicately in her own hands. As she inspected it the same way you did, you spoke. 

“Do something for me, Lilla.” She flicked her gaze back to you and nodded, curiosity filling her features. You sighed, swallowing down the lump in your throat, “Don’t ever forget how much your mother and father loved you.”

And then she hugged you.

—

“It has been a _long_ time since I’ve seen a village tavern _this_ lively.” Jaskier shrugged his shoulders as he brought the tankard to his lips. “Outside of the city, of course.”

The three of you made it back to the tavern soon after Lilla and her father’s reunion, but decided to spend the day inside the small, small room you had occupied yourselves in. The size and quality was more something you and the witcher were used to, though you had to admit the room was one of the worst you’d seen. Still, it did the job, allowing the three of you to rest after a long night’s work.

Restlessness found you once again, but mostly in Jaskier. He was practically jumping around the room once he heard the chaos that was in the rest of the tavern, and soon the three of you were claiming a table in the crowded room.

You shook your head at the bard, masking your smile with the mug in your hand. Maybe it was the successful reunion this morning, or maybe it was the atmosphere of the room, but you decided to let yourself relax for once — though never completely. You kept your eyes up, making sure no strange figures were lurking the crowded tavern. From what you saw, it was just the village folk stirring up a storm.

“I have a question for you.” You rolled your eyes at the bard, finding yourself wondering where Geralt went off to. Maybe he could have warned you of the advanced curiosity of a drunken Jaskier.

“No, I don’t have anymore coin. The rest of the drinks are on you.”

This time, _he_ rolled his eyes, gesturing dramatically with his hands, “Oh, wonderful.” He settled down, smiling with a pointed finger in your direction. “But that wasn’t my question.” You raised your eyebrows despite the slight fear that churned in your stomach. Jaskier was like a flipped coin — his antics could go one way or the complete opposite.

His mischievous eyes softened before he spoke again. “Why did you not take the coin from Toby?” 

There it was. You blinked quickly, the question taking you off guard. Of course, the bard didn’t even give you room to respond.

“I’ll tell you why I _think_ you didn’t. I think you have a heart under that assassin exterior — excuse me, _spy_ exterior.”

You pursed your lips, “Don’t we all?”

“Yes, of course.” Jaskier waved his hand with a frown. “Even Geralt has a heart, though he may not think so. But _you_.” The bard leaned forward, “You have a big, big, _mushy_ heart. A soft soul.”

You rolled your eyes at his comment, still letting yourself smile. Jaskier smiled as well, sitting back with his eyes on you, “Its a good thing. It's a great thing.” His eyes sparkled as he looked your face over with a new light. You tried to ignore the heat rising to your skin, clearing your throat just as Geralt returned. Surprisingly, he seemed more relaxed as well. He wasn’t smiling, of course, but somehow, you could tell he wasn’t as uptight.

Still, the relaxation had to end at a point. You took another gulp of your drink, remembering the real reason why the three of you were together. 

“We should head back to the city, first thing in the morning,” you said, trying to speak over the crowd around you.

Jaskier frowned, “What, so soon?”

You smirked at Jaskier’s distress, “It seemed that just a day ago you wanted nothing to do with this village.”

“That’s not true. It was at _least_ three days ago.” He smiled brighter when he got a laugh out of you, leaning back to gesture to the space around him. He ignored the glares he got from people he accidentally hit as he did so. “It has grown on me, this dainty town. Hasn’t it grown on you, Geralt?”

“Hm.”

You laughed again, feeling the energy around you bubble up in your own skin. But despite the happiness you felt in this moment, there was still so much to do. So much to worry about. 

You eventually let you smile fade, thinking about returning to the city. Never in your life would you have guessed that you might miss a small, smelly tavern like this — especially not with a bard and witcher as companions. The whole thing was a bit of a joke, but the reason you were put here didn’t have you laughing.

“It doesn’t matter.” You tapped the table, trying to control your nerves, “I still have to meet with Rauf and clear this whole thing up.”

Jaskier scrunched his nose with a frown. “Rauf?”

Your stomach dropped. Eyes widening with fear, you harshly bit down on your tongue. Had you said that out loud? Uttered his name without so much of a caution?

Your eyes widened even more as you stared silently at Julian. The chaos around you seemed to grow louder as his face barely showed any interest, except focusing on pouring himself another drink. Geralt was the same, only frowning at the crowd around you. The fear that coursed in your veins suddenly dissipated, instead turning into something…lighter. 

You didn’t know if it was from the alcohol, but you couldn’t help the laugh that slipped from your lips. Jaskier looked up with something close to alarm. 

“What’s so funny?”

As if something couldn’t make it worse. Your lips widened with a smile you rarely showed, giggles erupting from your mouth so much that you had to bring a hand to cover it. 

Geralt silently slid your seventh cup of alcohol away from you.

“Never did I think a laugh from an assassin could be so heartwarming.” Jaskier raised his cup to you, downing the rest of the liquid with a smile. “Shall we dance, Y/N?”

You thought the last of your giggles had escaped you, but there you were laughing wholeheartedly again. You slammed a hand on the table and pointed at the bard. “Now, I am _definitely_ not drunk enough for that.”

The bard shrugged, a cocky smile filling his features, “It was worth a try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooo reader is getting even more comfortable with jaskier and geralt ;) next chapter is going to be pretty exciting, so get pumped! (as always lol)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What you return to is not what you left behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! :)

A groan of pain escaped your lips as soon as you reached consciousness.

“You’re alive!” 

You shot up out of the bed despite your throbbing head’s protest. As soon as you realized you were inside your shared room, with only Jaskier to accompany you, your shoulders relaxed. Still, you frowned at the spot he was in — the chair _you_ planned to occupy for the night. Instead, you were sitting in the middle of the only bed in the room.

Jaskier’s voice broke through your thoughts once again, “You insisted on sleeping in the chair, don’t worry.” 

“So why am I here?”

“You fell asleep before you could argue.” He chuckled at the pout that settled on your lips, walking over with a cup and handing it to you. “It’s water. But don’t… _spit it_ at me this time.”

You smiled but took the cup greedily, chugging the liquid to quench your thirst. Once you did, you felt yourself grow slightly awkward. You couldn’t remember everything from last night, how you acted, and you never let yourself drink that much on a job. Jaskier seemed to sense your uneasiness.

“It wasn’t that bad, really.” He took the cup from you, purposefully ignoring your eyes following him as he got more water. “Besides, it’s not like I haven’t seen you pass out twice already.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“Then maybe this will.” He returned with more water and sat delicately on the end of the bed, the frame squeaking as he did so. “Geralt might have something to help the headache.”

You shook your head, wiping the remnants of water from your lips, “What’s the point of drinking if you’re not going to feel the pain that comes after?” He scrunched his nose up in confusion. You smirked, “What’s wrong? I thought you were a man of adventure.”

“Adventure, yes. Suffering? Not so much.” 

“What adventure doesn’t have a little bit of suffering?”

“This one hasn’t been so bad.”

“Hm. Well, don’t test your luck.” You held back another groan as you stood from the bed, slightly swaying on your feet as the pain throbbed heavier against your skull.

“Easy,” Jaskier grabbed your arm to steady you, and for once, you fought back the urge to pull away. You let him hold onto your arm as you blinked away the dizziness. It took a second, but you opened your eyes once the throbbing lessened.

“I’m good.” Jaskier let go and watched you shake your head and shake out your limbs. You walked over to the pitcher of water and chugged another cup. “Where’s Geralt?”

“Right here.” You and Jaskier jumped at the same time, turning towards the now open doorway where Geralt stood. He blinked back, but a glint in his eye told you he was slightly amused at your surprise. 

You rolled your eyes, “Great.”

“You ready to head back?”

You nodded and drank another cup of water, “Yeah. Are you?”

The witcher watched you with only what you could describe as curiosity, and a little bit of challenge. You both didn’t know what was waiting for you back in the city, what would happen when you returned. None of you did. And despite the hope in your heart that everything would be wrapped up quickly, your gut knew that wasn’t how it worked. And you guessed the witcher felt the same.

“ _I_ most certainly am.” Jaskier clapped his hands together, breaking you and Geralt’s gaze. “As much as I love this little village, I can’t wait to get back to the city. Do you know just how many _performances_ I have _missed_?”

After you and Geralt simultaneously rolled your eyes at the bard’s comment, the three of you made your way out of the tavern not long after sunrise, once again making the trip to the city with Geralt taking the lead. This time, though, was different. You felt a different kind of uneasiness than before — what once was fear of being found was now fear of _finding_. This whole time you felt that Rauf would sort what happened with the payer, that he would find out why Jaskier was targeted when he was innocent. But what if he wasn’t? What if this whole time you were fooled by the witcher and the bard? It frightened you that maybe the voice in your head, the one you pushed back, was right. That your feelings were betraying you, that your gut was as trustworthy as your heart. But you pushed that away as the lute strumming bard sang next to you — your gut had been right so far in your life. It wouldn’t turn on you now.

Thankfully, night was upon you when you made it back to the city. It was easy for you to guide Jaskier and Geralt through the twists and turns of the city, keeping utmost furtiveness and staying within the shadows. You led them to another tavern, the only other one in the city — the Golden Sturgeon, which was on the other side of Novigrad. It wasn’t perfectly safe, but to be honest, _nowhere_ was perfectly safe.

“Stay in the room until I get back,” you said as soon as the three of you successfully snuck Jaskier into the room. 

To your surprise, Geralt spoke. “How will we know your guild leader has cleared this up?”

You pursed your lips and lifted your hood over your head. With a sigh, you responded, “You won’t.” 

And then you were off.

—

You frowned as you squinted across the street from the merchant’s shop. It was dark, which was your first bad signal. A candle was always on inside, as most assassins in the guild came back late from assignments. You peeked your head out from beyond the alleyway, making sure no one was in sight. When there wasn’t, you snuck up to the doors and checked inside. Sure enough, the shop was empty except for the goods out on display. Still, you tugged on the door. It didn’t budge.

You cursed to yourself and stepped back. Had the guild already left the city? Rauf wouldn’t have left without notifying you somehow. There must be some sort of sign, a note, one only you would find.

Before you could look, the sound of footsteps made you jump away from the door and behind a nearby cart. It took mere seconds before the shop door was opened, and a candle was being waved around in the night.

“Who’s out here?” The voice was ordinary; you couldn’t place it in your memory. With a frown you looked over the cart, and at the sight of the merchant, you immediately jumped up.

“Thank the gods,” you sighed as you walked up to him.

The merchant from the last time you went to the guild only scrunched his face up in distaste, taking a step back. “Huh? Who are you? Why are you breaking in my shop?”

You frowned. “I’m not. I’m trying to get to the guild.”

“The guild? What are you on about?” At this point, you couldn’t tell if he was purposefully giving you a hard time or he was just dumb enough to not recognize you. Either way, you flipped your collar to reveal the guild patch.

The merchant only rolled his eyes, “The fellowship isn’t here anymore. Stop wasting my time.”

“Wait!” You stepped forward, clearing your throat to hide the desperation in your voice. “Where did they go?”

“Not far. They’re still in Novigrad.” You let out a breath of relief as the merchant kept speaking. “Just got a better place to stay. I’ve heard it’s nice. Haven’t gone there myself yet — they said they’d need me for supplies but still haven’t paid for some of the crap they took before.”

You spoke before he could keep rambling on. “Where is it? The guild.”

He looked you up and down with his face scrunched in what seemed like a permanent frown, “Why should I tell you?”

“I’ll tell them to start paying for the…crap they haven’t paid for.”

You waited for the merchant to respond, pleading with your eyes as he looked at you with disdain. “Ah, whatever. They’ll probably swap me out with another sucker soon enough.” He waved the candle he was holding as he turned back towards the shop doors, “It’s closer to Arnet’s guild. Hold on, I got the address inside.”

Confusion struck you as you blindly followed the merchant inside, taking the paper that he wrote instructions on with a ghost of a nod. Rauf had never moved without telling you, hadn’t even mentioned a new place in Novigrad. You supposed he might have been too busy — maybe you were too focused on your assignment and he didn’t have a chance to mention it. But you were still wondering, wondering as you left the merchant’s shop, wondering as you followed the directions he gave you, wondering as you walked up to the two large wooden doors that reminded you of the king of beggars’ hideout. 

You cleared your throat and knocked the pattern on the door that the merchant demonstrated for you. It took a second, but a slot in the door slipped open, a new face staring back at you.

“Business?”

At least it was the same script. “I’m here for the fellowship.”

“And?“ 

Maybe not.

“Um, I’m here to see Rauf. And—“ you revealed the patch on your collar only to receive a grunt in return. You were beginning to miss the merchant, whose grunts were at least _somewhat_ good-natured.

“You know the code?”

“No. I didn’t even know you guys moved here.” Another grunt. You rolled your eyes, “Look, just tell Rauf Y/N is here.”

“Y/N? Shoulda just said that.”

And then the slot was closed, and you were left to blink back where the face was. Soon, you heard the sound of locks being unlatched, a bar being lifted, and then the door was open.

You frowned at the view in front of you. It was…definitely an upgrade from the last guild. The main area, which you guessed was a courtyard of sorts, was full of tables where assassins sat scattered — there were a lot of new faces like the one who had so kindly greeted you at the entrance, along with some familiar ones. They were busy with their games of gwent, though, so they didn’t notice you.

But you were focused on the amount of space that was there, on the nice torches that were set up around the room, on the new weapons area and blacksmith — who was working on what looked like fresh armor. And the _smell_ ; nothing like the sewer stench that slung to the underground guild. Instead you smelt… _food_.

“Come on, I’ll take you to Rauf’s place.” The man who was once seemingly hostile began walking ahead of you, not bothering to make sure you were following. You followed after quickly, your mind racing a mile a minute — Rauf’s _place?_ As in larger than a single jail cell? 

You tried to keep the surprise from your face as you followed the man but still allowed yourself to look around. He led you to a small building on the other end of the courtyard that had another two guards just outside, only letting you through after he told them who you were. You followed him in, where a small waiting area greeted you.

“His office is down that hall.” The man jutted his head straight ahead, where a decently long corridor greeted you. “I’d suggest knocking first—”

“I think I can handle it.” You sent him a sickly sweet smile, rolling your eyes for good measure. Despite your awe of the place, you couldn’t hide your anger. So much had changed in what seemed like a short amount of time, so much that you were sure to gripe to Rauf about as soon as you saw him.

You walked down the corridor, not bothering to disguise the sound of your heavy footsteps. You were angry, and that meant all you wanted to do was stomp around; it was something that always annoyed Rauf when you were a child, something he would chastise you for again and again. But you didn’t care.

You barely knocked on the door before opening it up. The first thing you noticed was the fireplace behind him. It was illuminating the room, the smell of burning firewood immediately reminding you of sitting by the fire with your father and mother, listening to the stories they told of their early lives. But the memories were blinked away when Rauf’s eyes met yours, his joyful eyes ignoring the fury that lied beneath your own.

“Y/N, it's so good to see you.” He smiled his warm smile, but you couldn’t be fooled. You focused on closing the door behind you to avoid his gaze. “So, whaddya think?”

You took a deep breath and turned away from the now-closed door, finally stepping forward and crossing your arms over your chest. “I think I’m pretty pissed off.”

“Aren’t you always?” You didn’t laugh with him. He noticed. “Sit,” he gestured to the chair in front of his desk. You only clenched your jaw in response.

“When were you going to tell me about the new guild?”

“You found it, didn’t you?”

You bit your tongue so hard you thought you tasted blood. After a second, you let in a sharp breath, “What about the new people?”

Rauf leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head, “The word spread. More people wanted to join the fellowship.”

You only quirked a brow. Rauf let his arms fall, finally matching your mood with an exhausted expression. “I don’t know what you want me to say. We got more business.” He gestured to the pile of papers beside him. “You should be _glad_.”

“I’d be glad if I didn’t have to ask a merchant to tell me where my guild is.”

Rauf nodded, “That’s fair. I should have told you, somehow. But now you’re here.”

You bit your cheek, watching Rauf with squinted eyes. You were still pissed, but right now didn’t seem like a time to fight. He looked worn out still, and even though he should have made sure you knew about the guild, it was easy to forget when so much was changing. 

You sighed and placed your arms on the back of the chair in front of Rauf’s desk, “After all this relocation I hope you still had time to see the payer of my assignment.”

“That I did,” Rauf nodded, his eyes moving to his desk as he searched for something.

You raised your brows when he didn’t say more, “And he cleared it?”

“Oh, no. No, the assignment was right.”

Your stomach dropped, “What?”

“The assignment was right. There was a tight timeframe, but it was right.”

“He told you that Jaskier was in Oxenhurt and got to Velen that night?”

Rauf dropped his hand to the table, finally meeting your eyes, “Why are you questioning this?”

You scoffed, “Because it doesn’t seem likely that—“

“He wasn’t in Oxenfurt, but _near_ it. Just outside of it.” Rauf kept a stern gaze as you slammed your mouth shut. _He_ was angry now, and his vexation made you push your weight off of the chair and back to a standing position. Could that be possible? Could the bard have been practically in two places at once? Something was still off, something was still wrong — it had to be.

You swallowed the lump in your throat as he continued, “Listen to me, Y/N. I checked the assignment for you, and I made sure it was right. The payer explained everything — and he wasn’t happy about it. But twelve murdered women is not a topic I would take lightly.”

You blinked, your voice barely above a whisper, “Raped.”

Rauf frowned, “What?”

“They were raped. The twelve women.”

“Of course.” He shook his head, bringing a palm over his face. “My mind is so crowded after the move. You’re right.”

You stiffened your back as you looked down at him. “I know I am.”

The silence in the room could be sliced with a dull knife. You watched the fire flicker behind him, unable to look him in the eye. After a few moments, he spoke, “You’re wary but determined. Just like your mother.” You frowned, and it was almost as if the breath was knocked out of you. You never thought Rauf would admit something like that before, that he would confide in you like he did when you were younger. 

You watched as he stood from his chair and leaned both hands on the desk. He was thinking about something, maybe like you were thinking about your mother, about her smile, and her frown, and her tears, and her soft touch. 

When you looked back at Rauf, he smiled softly. His own eyes were now soft with sincerity. “You can trust me, Y/N. Have I ever done you wrong before?”

You decided not to answer.

After a moment, he cleared his throat and rubbed his hands together, stepping out from behind the desk. “I would tell you to make yourself at home, but you’ve got a rapist to catch. You might want to hurry, though. I heard some of the other assassins talking about the assignment. And you know the rules.” Your stomach dropped again as he walked up to you and searched your face. You sensed his sadness, the distance that had sprouted between you since…you didn’t know when. But you kept your jaw set.

Rauf sighed, “I have to meet with one of the newer recruitments. I’ll let you see yourself out.” He placed a firm hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently before he opened the office door and left the room, closing it behind him.

Once his footsteps faded, you let out a deep sigh, closing your eyes to let your heart catch up with you. There was so much to think about, but only so much time. You wanted to trust that Rauf was thorough with the payer, but with everything moving so fast…you just couldn’t. Especially after his slip-up from before. Murder and rape were _very_ different, and you had never heard Rauf mix something like that up. Right now, you could only for sure if you saw the payer for yourself, if you spoke with them on your own.

You swiftly walked up to Rauf’s desk, rounding to the other side so you could keep an eye on the door. Who knew how long it would take before one of the guards came looking for you, even though they knew you were close with Rauf. You looked down at the desk, where different papers were slightly scattered over the top. Rauf was a special kind of organized — where anyone else would see his desk as a complete mess, he saw a perfect stack.

You carefully flipped through the papers, looking for a familiar name. _Julian. Julian. Julian. Julian. Julian—_

“Julian,” you whispered, finally finding the name written in large letters. Now that you saw it, though, you couldn’t ignore the strange feeling that swirled in your stomach. You swallowed it down, instead scanning the parchment for the payer’s information.

_Assignment given to: Y/N. To be completed. Some setbacks._

You passed your eyes over the words, looking up sporadically at the door across from you. You turned back to the page, licking your lips in anticipation. 

And there is was, not too far down. _Payer: Hotch._ The name was familiar. You frowned, trying to rack your brain for a face, but there was no time. Instead, you trailed your finger across the page, where a location was printed in Rauf’s scrawled handwriting. You grabbed the quill off the desk and reached in your pouch for the instruction sheet the merchant gave you, flipping it over to write the location down as fast as possible.

Shoving the paper in your pocket and putting the parchments back in their messily organized state, you hurried to the door, breathing a sigh of relief as you noticed no one out there. But still, your heart plummeted against your ribs — Rauf mentioned the other assassins talking about your assignment, about _Jaskier._ You needed to get Jaskier, and find the payer, and finally clear this whole thing up. But if you didn’t get back soon, you might not get the chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooooffff that ending was so tense to write lol but just get ready cuz next chapter is CRAZY! 
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A friendship crumbles in the face of disagreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, this chapter has graphic violence and gets really heavy towards the end. Trigger warning for violence, blood, etc. You've been warned!
> 
> (In good news, next chapter will be very heavy on Jaskier x Reader. Yay!)

The darkness surrounded you as you ran all the way back to the inn. You didn’t care about the few people who were wandering the streets, didn’t care for their gasps as you just missed knocking into them — all you cared about was getting to the inn, to Jaskier, and quick.

As you ran, your mind couldn’t help from wandering. You were pushing back Rauf’s face, pushing away his sureness of Jaskier’s guilt. Of course, you questioned it yourself, if the bard was actually innocent, but when Rauf said it himself, you knew it wasn’t the truth. Somehow, you just knew. If it was the bard’s smile, or his eyes, or the way he looked at the little girl you two had saved, you weren’t sure. But you just knew. And you weren’t going to let him die.

You didn’t know how long it took for you to get back to the inn, but it was still dark when you got there, so that was enough for you. You were ready to practically break down the back door to get to the room you left the bard and witcher in, but had to stop yourself at the sound of a familiar voice. And, to your dismay, a familiar tune.

You didn’t bother apologizing as you shoved past the much larger crowd of people who were in the tavern. The groans of protest were a blur to you as you pushed towards the front, past the bars and tables, where Jaskier was standing proudly, his lute in hand. You had never been more furious to see the smile on his face.

You grabbed his arm as soon as he laid his eyes on you, making him yelp in surprise as you dragged him to the side of his makeshift stage. You practically pushed him against one of the pillars in the room, the concern in your chest boiling into anger.

You spoke through gritted teeth. “What the _bloody hell_ are you doing?”

“I _was_ celebrating.”

You ignored the sarcasm that laced his voice. “You can’t just—“

It was then that you realized the bard was alone. You twisted your neck to look at the crowd, at the bar, to the back corners of the tavern. No witcher in sight.

You turned back to the bard, your grip on his arm tightening. “Where is Geralt?”

“What? He’s not with you?”

“Why would he—“ It didn’t matter now. What mattered was keeping him safe. “You’re still _wanted_.”

“What?”

You looked back at the crowd again, this time peeling your eyes for anything, anyone who might be there to harm him. “You could be killed any second if not for the crowd—“

Then you saw her. She was at the bar, her hood hung over her head, but she was facing you, watching you. She lifted her cup and chugged the rest of what was inside, placing it down and walking towards the back exit. As soon as Joneta’s figure disappeared behind the door, you whipped your gaze to Jaskier.

“Who was that?” His voice was distant as he looked past you where Joneta had walked, his eyes full of fear that you wished you could make disappear. Instead, you squeezed his arm again, making him look back to you.

You licked your lips, took a deep breath, and whispered, “The only way you can… _maybe_ stay safe is in front of the crowd. So whatever you do, don’t stop playing.”

Jaskier frowned at you, the fear in his eyes turning to concern. He opened his mouth to say something, but you turned away before he could stop you. You walked over to the back door, and despite your determination to get outside, you stopped. The bard’s eyes burned into the side of your face, making you turn back towards him. The two of you ignored the complaining crowd and shared a look, one that spared no words. The bard’s jaw clenched as he looked at you, his gaze traveling quickly over your face. Finally, he settled back on your eyes, where he gave a slight nod.

_Be careful._

You lifted your chin, but the confidence you may have had sizzled away. You couldn’t promise him that. So you didn’t. You looked away, closed your eyes, and took a deep breath.

And then you went outside.

“I figured you’d want to talk. You always do.”

You whipped your head to the side, where Joneta leaned against the cobblestone walls of the tavern. You watched her with slitted eyes, “Only when I have to.”

You almost sighed in relief when Jaskier’s muffled voice began singing again, emitting cheers from the previously annoyed crowd. Even so, your heart was practically ripping out of your chest at the girl beside you.

Joneta pushed herself off of the wall, moving to slide her hands along the barrels that crowded the back of the tavern. She stood across from you, letting her hood fall as she turned back towards you with a questioning look.

“I could’ve killed him already.”

Your stomach flipped with anger, but you pushed the feeling away. Clenching your jaw, you met her gaze, “Then why didn’t you?”

“Why didn’t _you_?” She stepped towards you, making you stiffen. No matter what, you would _not_ let her get through that door. “I think you’re smart, Y/N. Which is why I wanted to give you a chance.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, “A chance for what?”

“To stop me."

Your eyes searched her face; she was serious. You licked your lips and frowned, the answer seeming obvious to you, “He’s innocent.”

“And?”

Your frown deepened as you enunciated each word carefully, “We don’t kill the innocent.”

“ _You_ don’t kill the innocent.”

You faltered, “What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

She bit her bottom lip, releasing it into a pout. Then she shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. You’ve had plenty of time to kill him, but you didn’t. So I will.” She stepped forward again, this time trying to move past you.

You stepped to the side so you were blocking her path, “You can’t.”

Joneta’s eyes searched your face, but this time they were angry. “Do you know how much _coin_ is on his head?”

You blinked, opening your mouth to respond but closing it soon after. To be honest, it never occurred to you. You had only thought about ending Jaskier’s life because of what Rauf told you he did — the money meant nearly nothing to you. All you wanted was justice for the victims. Or, _supposed_ victims.

You winced at your own thoughts and instead pushed them away, “Doesn’t matter.”

Joneta scoffed and tried to step forward again, but you lifted your arms just in time to push her back. She huffed, but the glare she sent you wasn’t nearly as deadly as your own.

You gritted your teeth, but the anger boiling in your veins was overpowered by the sadness in your voice, “I don’t want to fight you.”

Joneta stood up straighter, her stance making you take a sharp breath in, “I guess you don’t get to make that choice.”

You saw the knife slip from her wrist just in time, jumping to the side as she swiped just past your face. She jabbed the knife towards you again, but you sidestepped before it could make contact. While her arm was still outstretched, you grabbed it and twisted it behind her, making her drop the knife to the ground. She let out an angry groan before you let her arm go, taking your position back in front of the door.

“Joneta, _please_.”

She was breathing heavily now, her eyes laced with more fury than you had ever seen her with. She only shook her head with a huff before unsheathing another knife and lunging at you again, this time slicing into your arm.

You gasped, the pain causing you to grit your teeth. You didn’t want to hurt her. You just wanted her to stop. But if she was going to fight dirty, you might have to too.

But not yet. You walked forward, lifting your hands in surrender. Joneta watched you with a careful glare.

“Why do you insist on helping that fool?” She seethed, but stayed a safe distance away.

“Because, it’s what’s right.”

Joneta let out a dry laugh, “What’s _right_ is doing our job.”

“Our job isn’t to kill the innocent.”

“Enough of this bullshit.” She threw her knife at you, but you shifted out of the way, watching as it hit the cobblestone wall behind you. It was a bad throw — and you realized it was a distraction too late. Before you knew it, Joneta was slamming your chin with an upper hook, her fist colliding with your jaw and snapping your head back. The taste of blood filled your mouth as you stumbled backward — you would’ve fallen over if she didn’t grab your shoulder to steady you. But what seemed like a sympathetic gesture was just another attack; Joneta lifted her knee, _hard_ , into your stomach. You doubled over, clutching the spot that pulsated from pain. She kept her grip on your shoulder, leaning down to speak into your ear.

“You’re _weak_. Always have been.” You ignored the cruelty in her tone, instead taking the opportunity to overpower her. You grabbed the arm she had on you and used your body weight to flip her over, making her lose both her grip on you and her balance. When she slammed into the ground, her eyebrows furrowed in pain. She lifted a hand to the back of her head, revealing the blood that came from the impact.

You spit out the blood that lingered in your mouth, “It’s not weak to spare someone’s life.”

Slowly, you reached your hand forward, beckoning her to take it. _Please, just take it._

She looked at you for a moment, her eyes searching your own in disbelief. For a second, you thought she might believe you. That she might give up. But this was Joneta. And Joneta was more stubborn than you ever dreamed of being.

“ _A life is only worth sparing if you’re willing to spare yourself_.” You paused, taken aback by her words. But they weren’t hers — they were Rauf’s. It was one of the many lessons he taught you when you were young, one of the lessons you had been pushing to the back of your mind since you started this assignment. But before you could think any more of them, Joneta had found her knife again and leaned up to slice into your stomach. You yelped at the contact, immediately bringing a hand to the wound. Blood was trickling out, but it didn’t seem that deep of a cut. You looked back to Joneta, whose once anger-filled eyes now showed a hint of the same refrain that yours did.

She didn’t want to kill you either.

But that didn’t mean you were going to let her kill Jaskier.

“I’m only going to warn you once more,” you said, fighting the urge to unsheathe your own knife. By then, Joneta had gotten up from the ground, getting ready for another round.

And this time, you gave it to her.

You jumped forward, dodging her knife as she tried to plunge it into your leg. Instead, you grabbed her arm and turned her around, using your position to push her own knife-wielding hand to her face. She screamed as the knife cut into her cheek, forcing her to drop it to the ground.

You let her push you away as she held a hand to her face.

But she wasn’t done yet. She ran towards you and threw a punch, which you dodged. But as you did so, she lifted her foot and kicked right onto the cut she put into your stomach.

You screamed in agony as you fell to the ground, clutching your stomach as it continued to bleed. You coughed up the blood from your mouth and spit it on the ground beside you, trying desperately to catch your breath.

Joneta stood over you, practically heaving from anger, “You let him go, you’re just as bad as your father.”

If her blows from before hadn’t knocked the breath out of you, this had. She was one of the few people you had told about your past, and you’d never thought she would use it against you. _Especially_ not in a time like this.

You clenched your jaw despite the pain that jolted through your body. “I am _nothing_ like him.” You didn’t know if you said it for yourself, or for her. Either way, you jutted your head back to the tavern door. “And _he_ is nothing like that. He’s _innocent_ , Joneta.”

She laughed, the sound making you wince almost as much as the pain from your body, “Like I give a shit.” She began walking towards where her knife had fallen, towards the tavern door where Jaskier continued playing his music, towards the man with whom you had grown a reluctantly special fondness for in the time you spent with him. And the idea of Joneta walking in there, cornering him, stabbing him until his eyes lost their light — it made your eyes sting, your teeth clench, your heart ache.

You were moving faster than the pain could register, kicking out your leg in time to trip Joneta and make her fall to the ground. Taking the knife out of your boot, you pushed Joneta so her back was on the ground and held her down with your knife to her throat.

She tipped her head back once the cold steel made contact with her skin.

You were breathing heavily now, your once pleading eyes now a stone-cold glare. “Don’t. Just _stop_.”

Joneta bared her teeth, “I’ll never stop. And you shouldn’t either.”

Her knife was sunken into your leg before you could react, the pain piercing through you as she pushed you aside once again. She grabbed the knife from your hand as you squeezed your eyes shut from the pain; she stood up and began walking back the tavern door — to Julian.

“No!” You screamed, and without a second thought, you ripped the knife from your leg and jumped towards her, grabbing a handful of her hair to pull her back, exposing her neck. You gripped her knife in your hand and slid it along her throat, only wincing when the blood spurted out of the wound.

You gasped as the two of you fell to the ground, Joneta’s chokes being the only sound you could hear. You cradled her head in your lap as she tried to speak, despite the blood flooding her mouth; the blood was pouring out of her throat and all over your hands as you tried to hold the wound, desperate to fix the mess you made. She watched you with a shocked expression, like she couldn’t believe you did it, couldn’t believe you actually caused her this pain. Like she didn’t think it would end this way.

“I told you to stop,” you sobbed, watching her eyes glaze over as the blood continued to pour through your fingertips. “I told you. I told you — _please, don’t_.”

But she was fading, and you could see it. You still kept your hands there, over the fatal wound you gave her, even though you knew it wouldn’t do anything. You kept your hands there even when her gasps for air subsided, even when her body became still, even when her eyes dimmed. You kept your hands there as your own leg seeped blood onto the ground, as your sobs filled the noise of the night — and you still didn’t let go when those sobs turned to an unsettling silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...let me know your thoughts...


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One relationship blossoms after another was broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all are doing well! As usual, thanks for all the comments and kudos! Happy reading :)

Blood wasn’t something you were new to. Not since the first time you scraped your knee, not since the first time you saw a dead body, and definitely not since you killed your first target. It was everywhere — and in a fight, it _got_ everywhere. But for some reason, you couldn’t wrap your mind around the fact that it was Joneta’s blood all over your hands. It was her blood that seemed to be a permanent reminder of what you did.

Geralt burst through the back door of the tavern not long after Joneta’s eyes went dark. Or, maybe it _was_ a long time after. You couldn’t tell, and the sky wasn’t helping — darkness surrounded you for as long as you could remember. You were beginning to think the sun would never return. But even that didn’t bother you. Not while your friend — who you once considered your _only_ friend — was dead in your arms. Not while her blood was caked onto your fingertips, not while her now dried pool of blood mixed with your own.

Geralt _tried_ to get you up. But even he didn’t dare touch you when you sent him daggers through your eyes. Instead, he made sure no one ventured back to the tavern’s courtyard, all while keeping his eyes off of you. Smart, because if he sent you any look that resembled pity, you might’ve stabbed him as well.

The tears had stopped falling almost as soon as her blood dried. You were silent, which wasn’t new either, but it was…unsettling. Like you couldn’t speak. Like the words that died on Joneta’s tongue as she choked on her blood…they died on yours too. 

So instead of crying, you watched the girl in front of you, stiff and departed, thinking maybe she would get up again. She’d blink, or gasp, or laugh at the fact that you thought you killed her. _Killed her_. 

“You could never,” she’d say, wiping the blood from her face. “The only thing that’d kill me is… _me_.” And you’d laugh.

But she didn’t wake up. She didn’t move. She didn’t even bleed anymore. She was a corpse. An ‘it’. A _was_.

“Oh.” You snapped your eyes up, the quickest movement you’d made for a while. Jaskier was standing at the door of the tavern, his hands wringing together, probably because there was no lute between them. Geralt stood behind him, making sure the door was closed and blocked by a heavy barrel beside it. He only nodded at you and turned away, most likely to guard the other entrance.

You looked back at Joneta’s eyes, which now seemed to be judging you — testing you. But when you spoke, it was to Jaskier, “I thought I told you to keep playing.”

You almost didn’t notice him kneel beside you, “You’re hurt.” His hands shook as they reached towards your thigh, his fingertips gently ghosting over where blood had already been soaking through.

“I already tied it off.”

It wasn’t a lie. Somehow you managed enough energy to rip part of your cloak and tie it around your stab wound — the blood wasn’t fully soaking the material, which meant you hadn’t been out there too long. Otherwise, you would probably be passed out by now. Or dead.

“Not your arm. Or — oh, your _stomach_.” You barely flinched when he held one hand to each wound — it hurt, the sudden pressure, but somehow, it made you feel better. “We need to get you inside.”

“I can’t,” the crack in your voice made you inhale sharply, your eyes brimming with tears. “I can’t leave her.”

Jaskier’s gaze softened, his grasp on your arm tightening so you would look at him. “She’ll be here. Geralt will make sure of it.”

You didn’t want to believe him. Him, of all people. The person who made you kill your friend. The person who made you go against your uncle, the one person you could call family. But there was part of you…the part of you that you wanted to push away. _That_ part of you believed him. _Trusted_ him.

So you let him help you up, lean your arm over his shoulders, and guide you back inside the tavern. He whispered in your ear as you made it to the room. _You’ll be okay. It’ll be okay._ You knew it wouldn’t. But you listened anyway.

He told you he needed to clean the wounds. So you watched as he readied the tub, listened as he told you exactly what he was doing even if you didn’t give two shits. His voice was therapeutic, numbing, comforting. He spoke to you as he led you to the tub, spoke while he was turned around as you peeled the clothes from your body. He hummed as he quickly helped scrub the blood from your hands, from your face, from your hair. 

It was after you got fresh clothes and were sat in a chair that he became silent. He worked quietly as he stitched what he could of your wounds. Badly, you might have added. Maybe you would have teased him if the circumstances were different. But you instead kept your eyes on the tub full of blood infested water, biting down on your tongue to hold back grunts of pain. And then the stitches were secure, or as secure as they could’ve been, and you looked over the damage as Jaskier cleaned off his hands. 

You’d had worse. Rauf once found you nearly unconscious outside his door after getting in a mere bar fight. But these wounds were from a friend, and that made them so, so much worse. 

You tore your eyes away from the stitches on your arm, swallowing back the bile that crawled up your throat. Instead, you toyed with the fresh cloth that was wrapped around your thigh, where the blood had finally managed to subside. The silence in the room was deafening. It wasn't comforting out there behind the tavern, where Joneta’s eyes haunted you and her voice echoed in your head. But here, with Jaskier, you desperately wanted to hear something else. _Anything else_.

“How long was I out there?” Your voice was hoarse, almost a whisper.

“Too long.” Jaskier set his towel down, his own eyes not meeting yours. “I tried to get you sooner, but Geralt—“

“I wouldn’t have let you either,” you said, watching him fold your now clean clothes, probably to busy his hands. The fact that he wouldn’t look at you scared you. So you spoke again, “Where did you learn to…”

Jaskier turned, finally meeting your eyes. He noticed you gesturing to your wounds, “Geralt made me help him on our…many adventures.”

You managed a small scoff, “Didn’t teach you very well.”

Jaskier paused, a smile lifting onto his lips when he realized it was a joke. A _joke_. You recoiled at the smile that threatened to fall on your own face. Your friend was dead, and you were making _jokes_.

Jaskier sat in the chair just across from you, his knees just inches away from your own. But still, he didn’t speak. He fumbled with his hands, staring at them like they were the most interesting thing he’d seen in his entire life. But you knew he _wanted_ to speak. To talk to you. To ask you what happened. And even though it hurt, you cleared your throat.

“I was eight years old.” You watched Jaskier’s gaze fall back on you, his fumbling hands now going still. He frowned at your words, waiting for you to continue. You cleared your throat again, “I was eight when my parents died.” 

Jaskier blinked, his eyes clouding with sorrow, “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” You smiled sadly, laying your palms flat against your knees. “But they didn’t just die. They were killed.”

“You don’t have to—“

“I want to.” You let out a deep breath before meeting the bard’s eyes again, “My father was a good man. He was. And sometimes that’s all I want to remember.” Your eyes darkened, the memories washing over you like a cold rain. “But he killed my mother. He killed her because — shit, who knows why. He was crazy. He thirsted for blood. And my mother was victim to it.”

Now, Jaskier’s eyes were dark. “Did he hurt you?”

His concern made you bite your lip. You shook your head, dropping your eyes from his face, “No. My uncle killed him before he could. He tried to stop him at first, but he was too late.”

“And you saw it?”

“Only the blood on my uncle’s hands.” 

“That’s…terrible.”

You frowned. _Terrible_. It was. But it was your reality. Your past. The memories were always in your mind, but you never labeled them as _terrible_. They were just there. Another part of you. You thought of the way Rauf looked at you when he left the house, reaching out to you with his hands covered in blood. The way he grabbed your arms and carried you away from your home, from your life. 

Part of you hated him for not letting you see what your father did. For once, he didn’t want to expose you to the graphic scene. But you wished you saw it. You wished you didn’t only remember the good parts of your father, the parts that made you miss him.

“Some days I wish I could’ve done it myself.” The venom in your voice surprised Jaskier, but you kept going. “Others…I miss the man I knew before. And I hate myself for it.”

“You couldn’t have known he would do that. You were a child—“

“But I wish I could _go back_. To before. I miss our time together. I miss seeing his face when he came home at night, even after knowing he killed—“ You stopped yourself, wiping furiously at the tears that fell from your face. You swallowed the lump in your throat, lifting your eyes to the man in front of you.

“It’s why I do what I do.”

“Kill people?”

“People who need to die. _Evil_ people. Even the people you hold close.” Joneta’s face flashed in your mind, making you shudder. “I don’t want someone else to regret not stopping someone evil, just because they’re a friend, or family, or…whatever.”

“But you also want revenge.” Jaskier’s words stunned you. You expected his face to be disgusted, dejected. But he was staring right at you, not an ounce of aversion in his eyes. “You want revenge for what happened to you.”

Your voice was a whisper, “Yes.”

He waited a moment before speaking again. “Who was that assassin?”

You closed your eyes, “Joneta.” The name felt like it burned a hole in your tongue. “A friend.”

“And you killed her…for me?”

Your eyes met his, the tears clouding up your vision. You didn’t have to answer.

“You’re a good person.” Jaskier searched your eyes, keeping his gaze there almost like it would make you believe what he was saying. “Hell, you’re a good _assassin_.”

“There’s no such thing.” You sighed when he kept his eyes on you, silently urging you to continue. “Murder is murder. I’m just...another type of evil.”

“I don’t think that's true,” Jaskier’s voice was firm, confident. “Other assassins would have killed me just for the money. You…you had to make sure I was the right — or, the wrong — person. You didn’t just call it a day and slit my throat just because.” You winced. Joneta’s chokes echoed in your brain. Her shocked expression. Her dead eyes.

You turned away. “That doesn’t make me a good person.”

“It doesn’t make you _evil_ either.” Jaskier leaned forward, placing his own hands on his knees.

“I guess you’re lucky I was picked for this job.”

“Guess I am.”

You looked at him, despite your eyes burning to fight back the tears. No matter how hard you tried to pull away, this man pulled you back. This bard. This bard who you were supposed to kill - to kill, and never look back. 

You watched him and he looked back, his tongue darting out to lay upon his bottom lip as he searched your face. His eyes flicked from your own, to your lips, then back again. You felt a twist in your gut, but also a release in your chest, a quiet sigh escaping your lips. And for a moment, you were positive that his hand reached out in the short distance to touch your own, ever so lightly, just ghosting the tips of your fingers. And then he cleared his throat.

“I found something. In your pocket.” You nearly sighed again as he stood up and walked back towards your clothes. You had to fight the disappointment that settled in your chest, internally kicking yourself at the feeling. You couldn’t possibly be this selfish, wanting Jaskier’s attention. Not after what happened. Not after what you did. 

_Wanting Jaskier's attention_. Was that all it was? Or was it something more? 

Before you could think more of it, Jaskier was in the chair again. He held out two pieces of parchment towards you. “Notes. Perhaps from...secret admirers?”

You scoffed and took the papers, ignoring the teasing smile he held. The first one was the instructions to get to the guild, which normally, you would throw a fit over Jaskier seeing. But your trust for him made you shrug it off, instead turning your attention to the second one.

**_Keep the girl until the rest arrive. They’ll know where to bring her._ **

**_— Hotch_ **

You frowned, blinking as you tried to remember where you saw that name. You knew you found the note at the bandit camp where Lilla was captured, but why was the name so familiar?

Then you remembered. “Oh, shit.”

“What?”

You were turning over the first piece of parchment when Geralt came in the room.

“I cleared up the body. We can bury it when you’re ready.”

The forwardness of his words surprised you. _Burying_ _Joneta_. You snapped out of your daze, blinking away the tears that lingered from earlier. Standing from your chair a bit too quickly, you wobbled as the pain shot up your leg. Despite gritting your teeth, you spoke, “I’m ready.”

“What do you mean?” Jaskier grabbed your arm to steady you. His face was construed with concern. “You’re hardly ready to take another trip—“

“I’m fine,” you snapped, eyes softening when you looked back at him. You leaned forward, holding the pieces of parchment towards him. Softening your voice, you placed your own hand on his shoulder. “And I know who is after you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know your thoughts!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone. To be honest, I feel kind of weird posting this. I contemplated if I should post this chapter this week for a while, but ultimately decided to do so (which…is how you’re reading this). If you go on my tumblr, I've reblogged some good resources for Black Lives Matter, and linked to some places to donate, sign petitions, etc. I can't link to things here, so if you haven't done so already, I really urge you to look into it and contribute in some way — anything helps. 
> 
> (here's one website that has a bunch of resources: https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/ )
> 
> That being said, enjoy this chapter, and if you plan on protesting, stay safe! <3

Jaskier was probably the fussiest person you’d ever met.

You’d known it before, of course. He was particular about what taverns you stayed in, pouting when you and Geralt chose one he didn’t like. Despite his messiness with clothes, he was selective on what he actually wore, what doublets went with what trousers, and so on. But even with all his fussiness, you never thought he would be fussy over _someone else_. Let alone, _you_.

As you gathered your things for the next journey, he stood beside you like your own shadow, making sure you didn’t fall or sway or breathe slightly out of rhythm. You almost punched him in the face when he offered to put your knives away for you, when the sheaths were already secure on your body. He got the hint when you sent him a simple, but effective, glare.

To be fair, he was the one who tended your wounds, so he saw how much damage had been done. But he didn’t realize it was nothing you hadn’t felt before, and it certainly wasn’t something that was going to stop you. Still, he was e _specially_ cautious after you explained that you needed to go after the same bandit group that took Lilla (at least, from what you’d assumed). You tried to argue that it would not only be another adventure for his songs, but it would clear up why this person — Hotch — was after him. 

Sure, Jaskier and your still-fresh wounds couldn’t stop you…but they could slow you down. Jaskier insisted you all wait for the morning to go out again, leaving you to groan in frustration when Geralt agreed. You grumbled to yourself as you threw your stuff by the door, to be ready for the early morning traveling. You didn’t bother hiding your annoyance as Jaskier changed your bandages for you and practically scolded you to get some sleep. But despite your irritation and unrest, eventually, you did.

—

_You were sitting in the grass,_ _under the stars. Everything was quiet. Calm._

_“They shine brighter when you’re out here to look at them.” You turned your head, smiling at the playful grin on your father’s face. “I’m serious,” he said, turning back to the sky. “They’re here for you.”_

_You giggled, and though you knew it wasn’t true, you let it slide. But instead of looking at the stars, your eyes stayed on your father, whose own eyes widened in — fear?_

_You watched as his mouth opened and a scream spilled out, making you whip your head back towards the sky._

_You gasped at the sight. The stars were falling,_ plummeting _, towards you. You instinctively lifted your arms to cover your face, a shriek leaving your lips. But after a few moments, nothing happened. When you looked out from behind your arms, the stars were gone. And so was your father._

_You sat up in the grass, shifting your gaze to the field around you. You were in your childhood village, but everything was gone. There was only one house a good distance away — it was yours. And your father was walking into it with a knife in his hand._

_“No,” you whispered, your hand moving to one of your sheaths. Realizing he must have taken your knife, you pushed yourself off the ground and began running towards the house, sprinting, its proximity seeming to get further and further the closer you got._

_You pushed forward, eventually making it to the door. You opened it slowly, blinking in surprise when you noticed Lilla standing, her doll clutched in her hands, eyes wide in fear._

_You turned your gaze to the side. You saw your father and mother, face down in their own blood. It was a scene you had imagined before — but this time, Rauf’s body was with them. His lifeless eyes stared back at you, mouth slightly ajar in surprise._

_You tore your eyes away from him, only then noticing another body. A loud cry from Lilla made you realize it was Toby._

_Rushing in front of Lilla to block her view, you gripped her shoulders in your hands, “Lilla, we have to go.” Not waiting for her to respond, you picked her up and ran out of the house, where the field was no longer a field, and rather the road to Novigrad. You didn’t hesitate as you sprinted in the direction of Novigrad’s gates._

_It was when you got to the gates that you realized the little girl you had been holding had disappeared. You looked around, eyes wide in bewilderment._

_“Y/N.”_

_You snapped your eyes back to the gates — there, was Jaskier. Only it wasn’t just him. Joneta stood, her arm wrapped tightly around Jaskier’s neck, holding him to her body. She held a knife in the other hand, against his throat. But it wasn’t_ just _a knife. It was_ yours _._

_Her lips curled into a devious snarl,_ “ _I’ll never stop. And you shouldn’t either.”_

_You jumped forward,“No!” Somehow, you grabbed Joneta away from Jaskier, pulling her to your own chest. With one swift motion, you took the knife from her hand and slid it across her throat, the sound of her chokes echoing in the night._

_Only it wasn’t her chokes. The sound was deeper, like—_

_You turned the person around, eyes widening when you realized it was Jaskier. It was Jaskier whose throat was slit. It was Jaskier that you killed._

_Your knife clattered to the ground. “No.”_

—

Your eyes shot open as you woke up to the recently rising sun pouring through the windows, and Jaskier gently strumming his lute. 

You sighed in relief as you got up — you hadn’t dreamt that vividly in a while. You knew none of it was real, or course, but seeing Jaskier alive and well made your heart slow to a normal pace. It didn’t stop your frustration that he let you sleep in when you should have been on the road already, but the snide remarks you were going to make died on your tongue when you stood, pain shooting up your leg as a reminder of the night before.

It was a slow morning, slower than any of the others you had spent with Geralt and Jaskier. It was mostly your fault — you were forced to limp to avoid the pain of your injuries. If Jaskier hadn’t insisted on helping you walk, it might’ve taken a lot longer just to get to your horses.

Right — _horses_. Roach was no longer a lone stallion — with your still healing leg and the extra weight of Joneta’s body, you needed to get another horse. Jaskier didn’t even complain about using most of his saved coin on the steed, but he did insist on getting to ride it with you. 

After you got out of the city of Novigrad, Geralt followed behind you, which you were glad for. You didn’t need to see Joneta’s lifeless body on the back of his horse, even if it _was_ wrapped in sheets.

And for once, you were glad for Jaskier’s distractive company.

“So, where were you thinking?” He practically whispered in your ear as he sat behind you, his voice sending tingles along your skin. You had to force back a shudder, trying to focus on holding your new horses’ reigns — _Buttercup_ , you and Jaskier decided upon. Well, mostly Jaskier. He insisted on having the final say for the name, and you didn’t blame him — especially since he paid for it. And although Buttercup wasn’t exactly…an _audacious_ sounding name, it had a nice ring to it.

You sighed at the bard’s question, “For?”

“Burying Joneta.”

Your body went stiff. In his presence and once infuriating antics, you were able to push the real situation out of your head — you were able to _relax,_ even if it was just for a moment. But in reality, you were not only on your way to bury the friend that you killed yourself, but also towards a bandit camp that you had no official plan for invading.

But recently, it didn’t seem like you had a plan for _anything_. 

You sighed, letting your shoulders drop once more, “Somewhere in the forest. We’ll find it on the way, I’m sure.”

Jaskier breathed in, as if choosing his words carefully. “But…there’s nowhere special? Like…a place you two would hang out, or… _gossip_ about all the… _ravishing_ targets you had to kill at the blade of your own knives?”

_Blade of your own knives_. You shook the thought away, simultaneously ignoring the inevitable smile that was probably on Jaskier’s face. “No. We didn’t…do things like that.”

“What _did_ you do?” He said after a moment, his voice softer.

You turned your head slightly, looking at him from the corner of your eye. His eyes bore into the side of your face, making you turn back to the road ahead of you.

“We killed,” you said simply, clenching your jaw. And Jaskier didn’t respond.

—

“Should we start?”

Jaskier’s voice didn’t faze you. You were staring at the body on the ground — Joneta’s body. It was wrapped in sheets — probably a lot of them, since you didn’t see any blood seeping through. 

The three of you made it to a spot in the forest, where there was a good area to bury a body. It sounded strange to say, but it really was. You hadn’t been looking for a particular spot, but the flowers in the area made you stop Geralt and slide off Buttercup, walking further into the trees. Which was where you found this place. It was a smallish area, big enough for the grave you inevitably had to dig, with trees distant enough and in a strangely circular formation. The flowers around the area were a plus, so you tied up the horses and walked over.

And now you were standing there, with a shovel that somehow made its way into your hand, looking down at the spot Joneta’s body would lay. Forever.

“Y/N?”

“Huh?” You turned away from Joneta’s body, focusing on Jaskier’s concerned eyes. You blinked, finally registering his question, “Oh. Um. No.” 

Jaskier frowned, “No?”

“I…need to do this alone.”

Jaskier stepped forward, gesturing to the bandage wrapped tightly around your thigh, “But your leg—“

“I’ll help dig. For a bit.” You were surprised to hear Geralt’s voice, his eyes catching your own when you turned to him. He looked back to Jaskier, nodding to where Buttercup and Roach were tied up, “You go watch the horses.” 

Jaskier looked from you to Geralt, his face contorted in confusion. He looked like he wanted to stay, to help, but you shook your head. He slammed his mouth shut, nodding his head slowly.

“Okay. I’ll be…over there.” You watched the bard go, looking back to Geralt only when Jaskier disappeared behind the trees. The witcher’s golden eyes were on yours, making you take a deep breath.

He sent you a nod.

And then you started digging.

It wasn’t easy with your leg. Though you weren’t sure _why_ Geralt stayed, you were glad he did. He was clearly making more progress than you, digging at a speed that could only be explained by his Witcher strength. Whatever that meant.

The two of you worked quietly, only sending each other slight nods or glances as communication. It was refreshing, to hear only the sound of the shovels digging into the dirt, the birds flying from tree to tree, the leaves swaying in the wind. And, of course, Jaskier’s distant singing.

Geralt helped you lower Joneta’s body into the grave, surprising you by how gently he lay it down onto the dirt. He climbed out of the hole wordlessly, only grunting as he stood up. He sent you a curt nod and left you to cover it up. You watched him go until he disappeared past the trees where the horses were, waiting until the very last second to let out a long, quiet sigh.

After a moment, you turned back around. You couldn’t help the pain that formed in your chest as you stepped forward, making yourself look down into the grave.

—

_The square was crowded with people, as it usually was. Rauf was on business recruiting people into the fellowship, leaving you to entertain yourself for the day. The best way to do that was to watch people swarm the stands and buy useless items, all while sharpening the knife Rauf finally trusted you with having._

_“Hey.”_

_You didn’t look up. Instead, you focused on the blade in your hands, letting its steel reflect sun rays into your eyes._

_“I said, hey.” The person kicked your foot. You scrunched your nose, squinting at the girl who dared bother you._

_Her expression was nothing more than bored, “Your uncle told me to find you.” She waited for you to respond. When you didn’t, she rolled her eyes. “Rauf.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Didn’t tell me.” She waited a moment, then sat down next to you. “But when I was eavesdropping, he said he wants you to have friends.”_

_“Psh. I_ don’t _have friends,” you said simply, turning away from the girl beside you._

_“That makes two of us.”_

—

You tentatively wiped a tear that fell down your face, not bothering to worry about the dirt covering your hands. At this point, it felt like dirt was all you saw. It was all over the ground, sure, and it was now fully covering the place where Joneta’s body was buried — but it was also all over your hands, arms, and now, probably your face too. 

You held your hands out in front of you, focusing on the way the dirt was caked under your fingernails. The soil reminded you of blood — Joneta’s blood, how it was covering your nails, your skin, your clothes. 

Despite the urge to clean the dirt off, you let your hands fall into your lap and looked back ahead.

“People used to hate witchers.” 

You were startled by the voice next to you. Somehow, Geralt managed to walk over and stand beside you without you noticing. He didn’t bother acknowledging the way you hastily wiped the tears from your face, instead sitting down beside you with a huff, “They’d spit when I walked into a room. Stoned me when I entered a village.”

You blinked, still taken aback by the witcher’s presence aside you. “But now they don’t.”

“No.” He turned to you with a hard gaze, “Ever heard of the Butcher of Blavikan?”

“Only stories,” You murmured. The Butcher of Blavikan was the talk of the guild for a while, but you never really paid much attention. But after a second, your eyes widened with realization. “That was you?”

Geralt only nodded. He looked ahead, his eyes clouding with regret, “I hurt someone. Someone who I thought could have redeemed herself. Could have walked away from the destruction she was causing.”

You cast your eyes downwards, back to the dirt covered ground. You swallowed the lump in your throat, “How did you…you know. Turn it around?”

“Jaskier.”

“Jas—“ You frowned, turning to the witcher with an astonished expression. “ _What_?”

“Jaskier wrote a song.”

You blinked, “He…wrote a _song_?”

“As bards do.” 

You rolled your eyes, a smile playing on your lips, “The coin one.”

He nodded.

You shook your head, astounded by your own ignorance. You had heard the song many times since being with the two, but never listened to it. Knowing Jaskier, he definitely fibbed the stories he went on, or reflected on, but still. You’d have to really listen to the lyrics the next time he played it. 

_Next time._

Would there be a next time? If all this was over — no, _when —_ where did that leave you? Would you go back to your normal assignments? Travel and hope you would find jobs on notice boards, like a witcher?

Geralt’s voice broke through your thoughts. “It’s never easy to kill one of your own.”

_One of your own._ You turned to him, “Had much experience?”

“Too much.” He waited a moment before continuing. “The right choices are often the hardest. But the hardest choices…you often don’t know if they’re right.”

You watched him for a second, a smirk forming on your face before you could help it. You snorted, “You sound like a .. _stubbornly wise wizard_.”

Geralt only chuckled. You squinted your eyes at him, an amused smile falling on your face. It was strange to see him acting this way — showing emotion. It was almost like…he _trusted_ you.

You scoffed at the thought, making him turn to you with a questioning gaze. You shook your head, “Just thinking about when we first met. When you tried following me to my guild.”

His face went back to being serious, “I trust you now."

You laughed louder this time, “Says the person who followed me _again_.” Geralt’s eyes widened like he’d been caught redhanded. You’d only found out that Geralt had followed you to your new guild this morning, when Jaskier let it slip. It made sense why Geralt hadn’t been at the inn when...Joneta happened. At the witcher’s frown, you held back a smile and jutted your head behind you, where the very bard was still out of sight.

Geralt grunted, “Bard can't keep his mouth shut.”

“And _you_ can’t keep your witchery nose out of other people’s business.”

Geralt paused, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. As quickly as the surprise was there, it was overtaken by a smug smile. “Jaskier is getting to you.”

You smirked and shook your head. _In more ways than one._

_“_ I do trust you now,” he said once the smiles fell from your faces. You turned away from him, back to the grave in front of you.

“I know.” A sigh escaped your lips as something clenched at your heart. You placed a hand on the dirt in front of you and closed your eyes, taking a deep breath in and out before opening them again. Joneta’s body may be here, but she would always be with you. Like Geralt’s past was never forgotten, was immortalized in countless songs, you would always remember your own. And you’d have to live with it.

You stood up off the ground, looking down at the witcher with a determined frown, “Now let’s go take down this fucking bandit camp.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots more geralt in this chapter, hope y’all enjoyed! Stay safe as always :)


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth is slowly unraveling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a couple more chapters left! I'm thinking of doing a second part to this series, but I'll have to see how I feel after this one is over. Let me know if you think that's a good idea 👀  
> Enjoy the chapter!

The sun was still high in the sky by the time the three of you found the place from the note. To be honest, you didn’t actually _know_ the place from the note was a bandit camp until you made it to the road and saw a group of bandits walking through the woods. Well, more like _Geralt_ saw them and made you and Jaskier follow him as he trailed them from a distance, beckoning all of you over to a hill that lay a safe enough distance away from the camp.

As you and Geralt surveyed from the small hilltop, Jaskier’s nervous chatter clouded any chance you had at making a plan.

“Are you sure this is a good idea? Attacking in the day? What if they see us?”

Your eyes were dark when you turned to him, “Who says we don’t want them to?”

That got him quiet. It also gave enough time for you and Geralt to watch over the scene before you, silently coming up with your own strategies.

This camp was larger than the last one. More spread out. But that didn’t mean anything to you, other than the fact that there was more room to fight.

Though the camp was bigger, there weren’t too many guards on the perimeter — but, unlike the last camp, there were multiple entrances, and enough men to guard them.

Finally, Geralt spoke, “Three guards at the front entrance, only two in the back.”

“Take the ones in the back out, there’s a clear opening to sneak inside.”

Jaskier looked between you and Geralt, his disbelief clear on his face, “Y/N, you are _not_ going in there like last time.”

You smirked at his protective tone, which might have annoyed you before. You nodded, “I know.” Jutting your head to the bandits near the back of the camp, you turned to the bard. “One of em’ has a bow.”

Jaskier blinked, then squinted to see that you were right.

Despite the obvious protest on Jaskier’s face, you and Geralt snuck down to the back of the camp, where the two guards were idly standing by. Geralt wordlessly gestured for you to take the smaller man, and when you widened your eyes in protest, all Geralt did was look pointedly at your leg. You rolled your eyes, but complied anyway.

Geralt grabbed the man closest to the two of you, knocking him in the head with the end of his sword. You didn’t bother being so modest — just as the second guy was turning around, you threw one of your knives, hitting him right in his jugular. He gurgled as he fell to the ground, and Geralt glared at your actions before rushing over to pull his body out of view. You shrugged when he handed you your knife and the bandit’s bow and pack of arrows, ignoring the careful glare he was sending you.

You regrouped on the hill with Jaskier, keeping an eye on the camp as you did so. No one seemed to notice the missing bandits — at least, not yet.

“The note I have made Hotch seem important.” You dropped the arrows to the ground beside you, then tested the bow’s strength and stretched the string carefully. It was pretty nice, despite its quality.

“He’s probably the leader.”

“Exactly. And the leader would _probably_ have the nicest tent with the guards outside.” You drew their attention to the tent that sat in the middle of the camp, two guards on either side of the closed entrance.

“How do we know he’s in there?” Jaskier spoke, his voice just above a whisper.

“We don’t,” you said, biting your lip. “But that’s our best guess. So we should start from the outside and clear the perimeter until someone notices. Then Geralt will have to swing his way through, and we hope we have enough arrows to help."

“Works for me,” Geralt said, already standing up to go. “I’ll start from the back and work my way around. Only shoot the ones who are hidden as well.”

You nodded, then turned back to Jaskier as Geralt walked back towards the camp. It would be easier if Jaskier went back to guard the horses, keeping him out of trouble and leaving you to your…business. “Jaskier, you should go—“

“No. I’m staying with you.”

You frowned at his defiant tone. “Jaskier—“

“No.” Jaskier sighed when he noticed the surprise in your eyes. “I know why you needed to be away from me for Joneta. You didn’t want to be alone, you wanted to be—“ He stopped himself when he saw your eyes were wider. “It doesn’t matter. But right now, I’m staying with you.”

You blinked, your voice smaller than usual, “Why?”

“Because I… _care”_

You tried to ignore the heat that rose to your skin at his words, especially since Geralt was almost at the edge of the camp. You didn’t know what answer you _thought_ he would give, but it wasn’t that. You let in a sharp breath, not knowing what to say. After a second, you settled on simple, “Okay.”

Turning away from the bard, you readied an arrow in the bow and stretched your arm back, simultaneously ignoring the way Jaskier’s eyes trailed over your body. You pushed down the feeling in your stomach even as you noticed Jaskier lick his lips and quickly turn away, trying desperately to focus on the task at hand. Maybe you thought Jaskier being by the horses would keep _him_ safe, but it would also keep _you_ less distracted.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and focused on Geralt, who had managed to take out two of the bandits that lingered outside. Your eyes narrowed as he snuck by some of the tents, probably to see if any bandits were inside. He was about to check one tent when a bandit emerged from another, forcing him to slip through the tent’s opening. You followed the bandit with your eyes, making sure to keep him in your range of fire.

The bandit yawned and stretched — he looked like he was talking when he walked over to the tent beside his, where Geralt was currently hiding.

“Shit,” Jaskier breathed, his eyes on the same place as yours.

You kept target steady, “Any bandits near that one?”

“Uh…no. No, none.”

“Good.” With a deep breath in, you released the string from your fingers, causing the arrow to soar through the air and sink right into the bandit’s skull.

Jaskier’s eyes were back on you, “Holy _shite_.”

You hid a smirk as Geralt dragged the bandit’s body into the tent, already readying your bow with another arrow.

Though you and Geralt were far apart, you worked in near perfect understanding. Silent nods were often used when you fought together the last time, but even without the visual confirmations, you two seemed to read each other’s minds. Geralt would sneak up to two bandits who were sharing a meal, and you would wordlessly shoot the opposite one with an arrow as Geralt choked the other one out. It was working well, with you two getting through a good amount of the guards — but of course, that working system would have to end.

Geralt was currently choking yet another bandit — as he kept sneaking around the camp, more bandits seemed to show up. It was like when one went down, another sprung from the dirt. Up until then, Geralt was able to isolate them and take them out one at a time; to your dismay, another bandit happened to be nearing where Geralt was, where he would be in clear view of the witcher.

You reached down, only then realizing there were no more arrows. You turned your gaze back to where Geralt was —

“We’ve got trouble here!” The bandit’s voice was loud enough for you and Jaskier to curse in unison — Geralt had been spotted.

As you watched the scene below, you cursed to your self again. With a grunt, you pushed yourself to your feet, “We have to go down there.”

“What?” Jaskier grabbed your arm, his eyes wild, “No, no we don’t!”

“Yes, we do.”

“We aren’t going in there. Geralt can handle himself—“

“Jaskier.” You put your hands on the bard’s shoulders so he would look you in the eyes, “Trust me.”

After a moment, Jaskier rolled his eyes with a huff, slinging one of your arms over his shoulder, steadying you as the two of you descended the hill. When you got the bottom, you and Jaskier snuck into the camp while Geralt continued to fight the bandits that were surrounding him.

You and Jaskier shoved yourselves behind a group of barrels, just far enough that you could practically feel the swings of swords and slashes of skin. It made you want to just rush right into the battle, despite your wounds — but Jaskier’s worried gaze on you kept you back, kept you grounded. Your eyes searched wildly around you, landing on a body nearby.

Without a word, you crawled the short distance and wrenched the crossbow that was in the dead body’s hands. The body had a couple of arrows — not enough to take out all the bandits, but enough to help Geralt a little bit.

You positioned yourself over the barrels in front of you, using the surface to keep your shots steady. Jaskier crouched beside you, holding a hand on the small of your back to keep you upright as your leg was laid straight to the side, previously throwing off your balance. As his touch shot fire up your skin, you pulled back the bowstring and lined up your shot with a bandit who was swinging a mace at Geralt’s head.

“Argh!” The bandit fell to the ground, screaming in pain as he flailed to try and rip the arrow from his now punctured back. You barely flinched as he did so, only focusing on reloading the bow.

Geralt seemed to notice the two of you had moved, as he was purposefully shifting his body so he could face your direction. The bandits didn’t notice your location yet, which was an advantage for the three of you. You continued to shoot arrows at the ones surrounding Geralt, taking them out as quickly as you could.

Of course, that wouldn’t last either.

“Shit,” Jaskier cursed when he noticed you were out of arrows. He whipped his head around the two of you, looking for something — anything, to help. Meanwhile, you had already tried to stand up to go help Geralt.

“No.” Jaskier pulled you back down, his concerned gaze beating your frown. “Wait here. I’ll be back.”

You would have argued, but he was already sneaking off in the opposite direction. Your heart was pounding as soon as he left your sight, the worst ideas of what was happening to him popping into your head. At the sound of a frustrated grunt from Geralt, you shook the thoughts from your head, instead unsheathing your knives and aiming to throw them at any bandits close enough.

You had just reached for your last knife when a hand gripped your shoulder, “Here.”

You gasped in relief when you saw it was only Jaskier, who had returned with a handful of arrows.

Almost as soon as the relief filled your features, you narrowed your eyes at the bard, “Trying to get yourself killed?”

He only smiled. “For you? Anything.” You rolled your eyes, despite the way your stomach flipped. But Jaskier smiled wider, “What? I can’t be reckless too?”

You shook your head, instead focusing on reloading the crossbow.

You and Geralt took down a couple more bandits before you realized the guards from outside the main tent were gone. Geralt seemed to notice too — he sent you a look before he slashed his way towards the tent, hopefully going to stop them before they could get Hotch out of there.

There were still some bandits that could get in the way, but not too many that you couldn’t take them on yourself. The only way Geralt could make sure Hotch was still in the tent without getting ambushed was—

“Don’t do it.” Jaskier was looking at you, his warning glare making you bite your lip. _How did he know what you were thinking?_

You rolled your eyes, _“_ Any better ideas? _”_

“Yes, actually.”

Before you knew what he was doing, he jumped up from behind the barrels and brought his fingers to his lips, erupting a sharp whistle that had the remaining three bandits whipping their heads in Jaskier’s direction.

“Use the barrels,” he said out of the corner of his mouth before he once again ran the opposite way. You would’ve laughed at his wimpy screech if not for the angry bandits that were running your way. Instead, you shifted your body and pushed one of the barrels out from in front of you, making two of the bandits trip over it and slam their faces in the ground. The last one stopped in time, and just as he made eye contact with you, you grabbed the crossbow off the ground and shot the last arrow right into his smug face.

Without another breath, you unsheathed your last knife and stabbed into the back of the other two bandit’s heads.

You were breathing heavily in your spot by the time Jaskier sauntered back into the now quiet camp.

Your eyes raised to his in a glare, “I thought you didn’t want me fighting? With my _wounded leg_?”

“Oh, _come on_. You were thirsting for the _thrill of the fight_ the whole time.”

He was right, of course. Regardless of the throbbing in your leg, the adrenaline pumping through your veins was worse than any addiction you could have.

Still, you wanted to be mad at him.

You tilted your head to the side, “And what if I just let them get you?”

All he had to do was raise his eyebrows at you — _you wouldn’t_.

“Whatever,” you said, pushing yourself off the ground to collect your knives from wherever they had ended up on the mini battlefield.

Jaskier was helping you up from retrieving your last knife when the main tent’s entrance flipped open.

Geralt emerged from the tent, his face softening ever so slightly when he saw you. He sent you a curt nod and headed back inside, making you take a deep breath in. It was finally time to figure out what the hell was going on. It was time to know the _truth_.

“Are you ready?” Jaskier asked, his hand hovering over your lower back.

You nodded and followed after the witcher.

The tent was definitely nice. Well, besides the two dead bandit-guards that Geralt so neatly stacked in the corner, and the mess of a struggle. But before the three of you got there, you were sure it was a lovely space. A nice cot, a table full of newly shined weapons — _someone_ had to call this place home at one point or another.

Geralt had already taken the liberty of tying the leader up, but left his mouth free to curse obscenities at you as you walked in.

“What the _fuck_ do you _want_? Killing all my men—“

“Hotch, is it?” You stepped forward, crossing your arms over your chest. “A pleasure.”

“I’ll show you a pleasure—“ His scowl quickly turned into furious surprise as Jaskier stepped into the tent behind you. “ _You_!”

“Normally my presence doesn’t emit _that_ much hatred, but okay.” Jaskier’s playful tone almost made you smirk, but you kept your stone-cold glare on the man on the ground. He nearly seethed at the sight of Jaskier, making a shiver go down your spine.

“You filthy _prick_ , you insolent—I outta kill you right now, you scum of—“

“Enough!” You grabbed a sword off the table beside you, swiftly placing it under Hotch’s chin. You had enough of his venomous words, and to be honest, hearing him talk about Jaskier like that made your blood boil. Predictably, he shut up once the blade with under his throat.

You spoke slowly, “What do you want with the bard?”

“I want _nothing_.”

Hotch spit towards Jaskier. You rolled your eyes at his theatrics, pressing the blade closer to his skin, “Why did you hire an assassin to _kill him_?”

“I did no such—“ You reminded him of the blade that trailed on his skin. It took a second for him to respond, but his words were spoken through gritted teeth, “He slept with my wife.”

You blinked, your face in scrunched up in confusion, “He _what_?”

Hotch sighed. His eyes glazed over as he dramatically recounted the memory, “She worked at an inn. I knew she was working late one night, so I went to visit her. And her boss pointed me to that pricks room. I caught them in the act.”

“Oh.” Jaskier’s voice interrupted, “Oh! That was…rather _embarrassing_. Marion, was it?”

Hotch only gritted his teeth harder.

You turned and looked at Jaskier over your shoulder, who was cringing at the murderous glare Hotch sent him. He fixed his gaze on you with wide eyes, quickly plastering on a guilty smile and lifting his shoulders in a meek shrug. Before you could whack him over the head, you turned back towards Hotch.

With a sigh, you tilted the man’s chin up higher. “ _Worked_? As in no longer does, as in is no longer alive?”

The bandit leader’s eyes looked away from yours in shame, “I tried to forgive her. To forget. But I couldn’t bear the sight of her face any longer after I found them."

You surprised yourself with a dry laugh, “ _He_ slept with your wife. So _you_ killed her.” You tilted your head to the side, narrowing your eyes, “Hardly seems rational.”

“You don’t _understand_. I couldn’t get the scene out of my head. Even now, it haunts me every night. The _betrayal_. And seeing _his_ posters everywhere, it only made it _worse_.”

You pursed you lips as you tried to read the man at your mercy. Even if he released the information rather quickly, it seemed like he was telling the truth — and his anger for Jaskier was _definitely_ real. But that meant that Rauf had been fooled, somehow. This man broke the code of the fellowship, and fro that, you wanted to get more out of him.

The bard’s voice cut through the silence, “If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t know she was married.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt sent a warning glare from behind Hotch.

“Right.”

Once Jaskier predictably shrunk backward at Geralt’s tone, you decided to continue questioning, “We found your note at another smaller camp. The note was about a little girl.” You squinted your eyes, “What did you want with her?”

“Why should I tell you?”

Jaskier spoke before you could, “Because there is quite _literally_ a sword under your chin.”

You shrugged when Hotch clenched his jaw and glared at you.

Fortunately, he complied, “The _assassin_ hasn’t been successful. Obviously.” Hotch’s eyes darkened, “I thought I would take it into my own hands to ruin his life.”

“Ruin his life?”

Hotch smirked, “What would make people hate him more than thinking he took a little girl for his own pleasure.”

Your back stiffened at the realization of his words, “You sick, sick _fuck_.” You pressed the sword harder into his throat, causing a trickle of blood to fall down his neck, “If you touched a _hair_ on that little girl’s head—“

“ _We_ didn’t.” The leader smiled wider despite the steel against his skin. He looked at Jaskier. “He did.”

Your chest was heaving now from anger. Rationally, you knew Lilla was okay. You had saved her, after all. But the smug smile on Hotch’s face made you want nothing more than to bash his skull in and watch the blood mix with the forest floor.

Your eyes flicked to Geralt’s, who sent you a single nod. Without hesitating, you swung your arm back and slashed into the bandit leader’s neck.

“Oh, oh _gods_.”

Ripping the sword from Hotch’s neck, you brought it back up and swung harder, making sure to make a clean cut through this time.

You breathed heavily as you watched Hotch’s head detach from his body and fall to the floor, his eyes still open in surprise. Dropping the sword to the floor, you wiped your forehead with the back of your hand, not realizing you smeared the blood that was already there. With a final huff, you turned around and pushed past the bard on your way out of the tent.

—

You were sitting on a tree log in the middle of the camp, cleaning off your knives, when Jaskier found you.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“No, I don’t think you are.” He sat down carefully beside you, as if you might swing the knife you were holding and slash his throat. Obviously, you didn’t. Otherwise he wouldn’t be _talking_.

“If you’re mad that I slept with that woman—“ Your glare stopped him from continuing.

“I’m not mad you slept with that woman. I’m mad that you almost got yourself _killed_ for it.”

You turned away from the bard and closed your eyes with a deep breath. You honestly didn’t know if that was the full truth. There were so many emotions flowing through your body that you couldn’t focus on one, not like usual.

And Jaskier’s presence wasn’t helping either.

“Here.”

His voice made you turn back towards him, where he had taken out a handkerchief. You watched as he wet the cloth with his tongue and gently took your chin in his other hand, leaning forward to clean off the blood that you didn’t even know was on your face.

As he concentrated on cleaning your skin, your heart was nearly bursting out of your chest. He was so close to you — and not only in proximity. Not long ago you were like Hotch: counting down the moments until you could see this bard dead at your feet. Now, you were worrying that this same man could hear your rapid heartbeat whenever he was near.

_I want to kiss him._ You thought, but immediately backtracked. _Kiss_ him? What were you, _stupid_? You just heard about him unknowingly breaking up a marriage, and now you wanted to _kiss him_?

He was an _idiot_. Annoying, loud, everything you should _hate_. That you thought you _did_ hate. But you didn’t. You wanted to take his face in your hands and kiss him until your lips were bruised. You wanted him to place his hands on your waist and grip them like he’d never let them go, like your body was the only thing he would hold for the rest of his life.

You blinked, almost shocked with yourself for even thinking that — for having those thoughts in your head when you should be worrying. About what, you didn’t know. Your assignment? Rauf? But with Jaskier’s eyes flitting over your face, his hand barely brushing your skin, you couldn’t think of anything but _him_.

Your mind was practically racing with itself. And the words that came out of your mouth weren’t the ones you expected.

“You’re an idiot,” you said, and Jaskier snorted with a smile, not bothering to defend himself. Because you both knew it was only partly true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts! <3


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ones we were once closest to might be further than we remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long chapter ahead! Enjoyyyy

Time was slow.

Maybe it was because your adrenaline was dying down. Maybe it was because you just realized the bard next to you was not just…a _bard_. But sitting in the bandit camp you and Geralt and Jaskier had just cleared out, you were feeling anything but anxious, anything but _worried_. You were feeling…content.

You practically smiled to yourself as Jaskier reapplied bandages to your wounds. He had found supplies in the camp and immediately offered to help you, despite the fact that you could very easily do it yourself. But still, you let him.

His hands worked carefully as he wrapped the wound on your leg. It was looking better than when you had first got it, which was a plus. But right now, you were focused on his fingers, on the way they moved so particularly, almost like he was playing his lute. It was like every movement of his was calculated and purposeful, and the slight grazes of his fingertips on your skin felt that way as well. You had to practically pray to the gods that he didn’t notice the flustered expression on your face that you so desperately tried to conceal.

“There,” he said, finally tying the bandage so it didn’t undo the work he did. “That should hold for a while longer.”

You blinked and rolled down your pants, slightly disoriented now that he wasn’t as close to you anymore, “Right. Thanks.”

As soon as Jaskier’s touch wasn’t on your skin, your mind flooded with thoughts you were trying to push away. Your mind first went to Hotch. He was a disgusting man, willing to do anything for revenge — even killing his own wife. He would have hurt a little girl at the chance of getting back at the man who seduced his lover; even though you knew he was crazy, you couldn’t help but connect his actions with your own. Despite hating him for what he did — and _might_ have done if you hadn’t killed him — at one point, you did the same. Your whole life you were raised to hurt those who hurt others, in hope that it would fill the hole that was left after your father murdered your mother.

And then you met Jaskier. But honestly, that didn’t change anything. If anything, it made it _worse_. You would do anything for Jaskier, and _had_ done anything for him. You killed _Joneta_. It seemed like so long ago that you had…ended her life, but it was only the other day. And you wouldn’t stop there. You would do anything for Jaskier, to get back at those who wronged him. So how did that make you any different from monsters like Hotch?

“What are you thinking about?” Jaskier’s voice broke your thoughts, making you turn to him. As usual, his eyes bore into your own with an intensity that you still weren’t used to. Maybe you wouldn’t have told him if he wasn’t looking at you that way. But of course, you did.

You let out a small breath, “Hotch.”

“What about him?”

You shifted in your spot, keeping your eyes just to the side of Jaskier’s face.“He was…blinded by his rage. His rage for you.” You met his gaze again, a new hardness to your stare, “He wanted revenge.”

Jaskier’s frown turned into soft expression as realization took over, “Y/N—“

You cut him off, “After my mother died, and my uncle taught me everything I know…I did anything for justice. For revenge.”

“But you’re _not_ like him.”

“Why not?” Your eyes stung with tears, but you blinked them away. “I’m an _assassin_ , Jaskier. I _kill people_.”

“I know that—“

“No, you don’t. I kill people and I _enjoy killing people_. If I hadn’t known you were innocent, I would have enjoyed killing you too.”

Jaskier faltered, his eyes alleviating as he looked back at you, “But you _didn’t_. And that’s what makes you different.” He tentatively placed a hand on your knee, watching your face to make sure you were okay with it. When you didn’t flinch, he spoke again, “I _know_ what you’re capable of Y/N.”

 _And it doesn’t bother me._ He didn’t say it with words, but as his eyes searched your own it was clearer than anything he could have said.

Jaskier looked at you like he was about to say something else, but before he could, Geralt’s footsteps emerged from wherever he had previously been in the camp.

“We should probably leave here soon. We don’t know if there are more bandits, and we don’t want to be here to find out.”

It was then that realization struck you. You had to warn Rauf about everything that had happened. Though it was only a couple of days, so much had been revealed to you, to _all_ of you, and Rauf knew nothing about it. He had to be wondering where you were, what was taking so long — but once you told him everything you knew, he’d understand.

You hoped.

“I have to go,” you said suddenly, pushing yourself off the log you had been sitting on.

Jaskier immediately reached towards you, “You have to—hold on, now.” He grabbed your wrist before you could limp away, “Go where?”

“To talk to Rauf. I have to warn him. About everything.” You shifted to face the bard, “I mean, who knows how many other innocent people are being targeted for no good reason.”

Jaskier nodded and stood beside you, “Great. Yes, okay. Then let’s go.”

You stopped, gently taking your wrist from his grasp, “No.”

“ _No?_ ”

“I have to go alone. You can’t show your face, at least not until I clear everything up.”

“You can’t go alone.” To your surprise, it was Geralt who spoke this time.

You crossed your arms over your chest, “Why not?

Jaskier spoke, cutting Geralt off, “We just…don’t think that’s a good idea.”

You gritted your teeth, “ _Why not_?”

“Maybe we should plan it out first?”

“What is there to _plan out_?”

The silence that followed was not actually silence. There was an unspoken conversation that hung in the air as Jaskier and Geralt shared a look, one that you were quite determined to bring to light.

You glared at the two of them until Geralt finally spoke.

“Your guild leader isn’t who he says he is.”

You frowned at Geralt’s words, swallowing a lump in your throat as your stomach dropped, “And how would you know that?”

Geralt hesitated before responding, “I followed you to your guild.”

It wasn’t news to you. But his matter-of-fact tone made you feel ten times more defensive.

“ _And?_ ”

“I went back there after you returned the first time. When you and Jaskier were waiting in the Nowhere Inn.”

You frowned, searching your memory. You guessed he was talking about when you first noticed Joneta lurking around the inn, when Geralt was nowhere to be found.

Geralt continued, “I wanted to see if he was actually checking on the client, like you said he would.”

“How did you know who he was?”

“He stood tall, unafraid. Unlike you, he didn’t slink around when he walked. He didn’t care about being careful.” Geralt relented, “And, he was the only one who came out of the guild without the cloaks like yours.”

Your eyes narrowed, “So you _guessed_.”

“Was it not accurate?”

You took a sharp breath in through your nose — from his description, it was definitely Rauf he was talking about. No one else from the guild had the same… _aura_ as your uncle, and even if they did, they would have been wearing some sort of cover so no one could see their face.

You nodded your head, still feeling stiff with indignation, “So you followed him. And…?”

“He didn’t come here.”

You frowned, “So? They could have met at another place. It’s not unusual.”

Geralt only quirked a brow, as if to say, _do you really believe that?_

“He could have been set up as well.” You huffed in frustration, “There’s no way to know for sure until I confront him.”

“And what if it does go wrong?” Geralt crossed his arms over his chest, “Are you going to fight your way out?”

You gritted your teeth, anger seeping through you at Geralt’s patronizing tone, “ _Yes_.”

Jaskier scoffed beside you, “Right, because it’s not like your leg is horribly injured and you can barely walk on it — much less take out a _whole guild of assassins_.”

It was an understatement to say you were shocked at Jaskier’s bluntness. The frown on his face was enough to make you step back — not from fear, but from surprise. You blinked as he softened his expression, reaching a hand out towards you in comfort. But you shifted away from his touch.

Jaskier spoke again, choosing his words carefully, “We just…need to be cautious, is all.”

“Fine,” you practically spat, turning away from the bard. “But we do this my way. And if you don’t do what I tell you, I’ll knock you out myself.”

Neither of the men responded to you as you limped back towards the horses and out of the camp.

—

The ride back to Novigrad was quiet. At first you had been fuming from what was said — how dare they assume Rauf was guilty when they didn’t even know him? Sure, you had your suspicions, but when _they_ did, it felt like a direct attack. You knew you were wrong to have been so mad at them, but by the time you had gotten close to Novigrad, your previous frustration was taken over by a new anxiety.

What if they were _right_. What if Rauf never checked the payer — or what if he did, and he didn’t care? Where would that leave you? Where would that leave him?

Once you were at yet another tavern in Novigrad, you slid off the horse without Jaskier’s help; but once your feet landed on the ground, you kept your hands on the horse in front of you.

“Are you sure you’re okay to do this?” Jaskier said once he landed beside you.

You snorted, “Don’t think I can?”

“Of course I do.”

You fought the urge to look at his infamous eyes, instead focusing on Buttercup’s fur under your fingers. For some reason, looking at Jaskier made your stomach twist in a different way — it was like a new fear, a fear of something happening to him. You had felt it before, especially when you faced Joneta. But now, it felt different. _Stronger_. Like because now that you knew there was something deeper in your relation to him, losing him gained a thousand times more weight.

Before, you had wanted justice for Jaskier. You wanted him to be able to walk the streets again and perform without worrying about someone trying to kill him. Even though you barely knew him, and his personality was not something you thought you could ever miss, you didn’t want him dead.

But now, not wanting him dead had turned into _needing him alive_. If he died…you couldn’t even think about what it would do to you. And that… _that_ was scary.

“We’ll be fine,” you said, the words surprising both you and Jaskier. You looked back at him, your eyes trailing to his lips, which were slightly ajar. He placed his hand beside your own on the side of Buttercup’s stomach.

His eyes stayed on yours, “Of course.” He smiled, the playfulness in his tone not meeting the fear in his eyes, “All you have to do is…not die.”

You huffed out a laugh, despite the constricting in your chest, “I would never.”

The smile on your face fell almost immediately, but instead of turn away from Jaskier, you placed your hand over his.

The look he gave you made your stomach flop, but you kept his gaze. “I’m going to fix this.”

After a moment, he sent you a small smile. “I know.”

—

The torches outside of the new fellowship gates flickered in the darkness as you lifted a fist to knock on the raggedy wood.

The small eye hole slid open, revealing a predictably gruff face.

“I’m here for the fellowship,” you stated, ignoring the nerves bundled in your stomach.

To your surprise, the face in the eye hole broke into a smile. Almost hastily, the man slammed the small door shut and eagerly opened the gates for you.

His smile was just as wide when he grabbed you in a bone crushing hug, “Y/N, how are ya?”

“Terrific,” you mumbled into his shoulder, praying to the gods that he would let you go before you stabbed him right then and there.

Thankfully for him, he did. His smile was smaller, but still present. “Remember me?”

You hesitated, but nodded, “You’re the same guy who let me in last time. Uh…”

“Androu.”

“Right. Androu. Cool.” _Talk about a new recruit_ , you mused as he watched you step forward, only to hold an arm out in front of you.

“Ah, not so fast. Gotta leave your weapons at the front. New rule.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you frowned at your own nerves. _It won’t have to come to that anyway_ , you thought, but your gut was telling you otherwise.

You huffed at the new guard and started removing your knives from their sheaths despite your inner protest. _One hour and Geralt and Jaskier will come in_. _That would give enough time to talk to Rauf and figure things out before it got too crazy._ If _it got too crazy_.

At the last second, you decided to leave one knife in your boot hidden. What they didn’t know, they couldn’t find.

After the guard — er, _Androu_ — secured your weapons, you decided to test the waters of his overt friendliness, “And what idiot made this weapon stripping rule?”

“Me.” The two of you snapped your heads to the side, where Rauf was standing with a charming smile.

You looked at him, your spine stiff. It hadn’t been too long since the last time you saw him, but somehow, now, he looked…foreign. More confident than you’d ever seen him, which was saying something.

Still, you snorted a laugh, “You’ve lost your touch, uncle.”

“That’s not what the brothel women told me last night.”

The guards around him laughed hesitantly, making you roll your eyes. Even though his presence made you a bit uneasy (and apparently the guards as well), you couldn’t help but shake your head at his humor. _Maybe he hasn’t changed that much. Maybe it’s just…paranoia._

His infamous smile lay comfortably on his face. “Care to join me in my office?”

You nodded and followed after him, quirking a brow at the two guards that followed behind you.

“You have _guards_ now?”

Rauf chuckled, “The guild is growing, Y/N. We’re not a small fellowship anymore. And with more people, there is more potential for…threats.” He looked at you from the corner of his eye, “You understand that, don’t you?”

You simply nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. You couldn’t wait for this to be over. And whatever _this_ was, you couldn’t say.

Surprisingly, when you got to Rauf’s office, the guards waited outside. You almost expected them to stand on either side of Rauf at all times, like he was royalty or something. But that relief was soon extinguished when the door was closed behind you and you were left with just your uncle. You felt like you were getting ready to be lectured, even though _he_ was the one who needed to be informed.

“Are you here to tell me good news?” Rauf sauntered deeper into the room, his eyes twinkling with a certain mischief that used to comfort you.

“Afraid not,” you said, watching as he leaned his hands on his desk. You opened your mouth to continue, but found yourself at a loss for words. How were you going to explain everything to him? Where would you start? What would make him actually believe you?

And why were you doubting him so much?

But before you could speak, Rauf sighed. “Joneta went to claim your target. Never came back. Do you know anything about that?”

You clenched your jaw, nearly drawing blood as you bit your tongue. You didn’t expect her name to come up so early in the conversation. You had hoped you could bring up what happened with her after he understood why you didn’t kill Jaskier, why you _couldn’t_. And why that meant you had to kill Joneta. But right now, looking in his disappointed eyes, you knew it wasn’t the time.

So, you lied.

“No.”

Rauf clicked his tongue, “But, I’m assuming you _do_ know that your target is _still_ out there.”

You shifted in your spot, trying to cease the fire that had begun spreading across your skin. “I know it’s not him.”

“And let me guess. You decided this on a _gut feeling_?”

“ _No_.” Your outburst startled you; it was something you hadn’t done since you were young. But this tone Rauf was using with you — _that_ reminded you of your childhood. He was treating you like an insubordinate child, like a rebel without a cause. Despite the anger filling your veins, you tried to remain calm.

After a moment, you cleared your throat, “I found the payer—“

“You _found the payer_?” His own anger surprised you, but you stood your ground. “And how did you manage _that_?“

You involuntarily shifted your gaze down to his desk of still unorganized papers. His eyes followed your own before he let out a scoff of disbelief, “You _disobeyed_ a _superior_ based on a _gut feeling—“_

“And I was _right_ —“

“But you knew what you did was wrong, because you went behind my back to do it.”

You clamped your mouth shut. The feeling of shame twisted in your gut as Rauf looked at you and tilted his head.

“Is that not true?”

You spoke through gritted teeth, “Yes.”

You held his angry gaze before he let out a sigh and turned away. You released a breath, composing yourself before he turned back around.

“How many times in the last few times we’ve met have I had to ask you to trust me?” You opened your mouth to speak, but he held a hand up to stop you. “Rhetorical question.”

“I wasn’t going to answer _that_.” You spoke despite the glare he sent you. “I was going to say that this isn’t about not trusting _you_. It’s about trusting _myself_.”

“Y/N—“

“I followed all of your lessons. Your rules. I heard them in my head, being relayed to me over and over again as I made these…decisions. But still, my… _gut_ —“ Rauf rolled his eyes, but you continued, “My gut was always right.”

Rauf considered you for a moment. You thought you could see was a flicker of sympathy in his eyes.

But you were wrong.

“Did your gut tell you to kill Joneta?”

You froze, any hope of getting through to him dissipating and being replaced with… _guilt_. Your breath was caught in your throat, making you unable to form words.

“Now, _that_ was _not_ a rhetorical question.”

Rauf’s smile made you sick to your stomach. You turned your eyes away from him, unable to keep yourself together as your eyes teared up.

“I know you mean well, Y/N. I do. But you need to know that you can’t just go around breaking rules because it’s what _you_ think is right.” By then, he had made it over to you and placed his hand on your shoulder. Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. “You’ve been different lately.”

 _So have you_ , you thought, but before you could say anything, the door behind you slammed open.

You and Rauf turned to see it was the two guards.“Sir, we found one of the targets lurking around the guild. Some of the new recruits were roughing him up before we brought him in.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You specifically told Geralt to come after an hour, and to leave Jaskier behind. It couldn’t be one of them, could it?

Rauf seemed to be thinking the same thing, as his eyes were glued to you. “Is he dead?”

“No sir. We stopped them before it got too bad. We thought it best to bring him to you to figure out how to deal with it.”

“That’s good, that’s good. Though maybe it would have been better to just kill him there.” You watched as Rauf’s face scrunched in contemplation. Then, he shook his head, “No, no. You were right. Bring him here.”

To say you were holding your breath was an understatement. You and Rauf stood in silence as the sound of grunts echoed from the hallway, nearing closer and closer by the second.

You didn’t want any of this to be real. It didn’t _feel_ real; Rauf treating you this way, the guild becoming something it never was — everything was falling apart, and you couldn’t seem to catch your breath. For once, you felt completely out of control.

As the footsteps got nearer, you silently wished they had left the door open so the suspense couldn’t give you the heart attack it already was. At the same time, you didn’t want to see who the target they had found was. Though, deep down, you already knew.

Finally, the door swung open.

Rauf clapped his hands together, “Well, well. Look who it is.”

One guard held each of his arms as they dragged him into the room.

You almost didn’t recognize him with all the blood. From what you could see, his face was covered in bruises that had already begun to form, blood was soaking into his shirt — whether it was his or the assassins’, you couldn’t tell. His feet were dragging on the floor as the guards brought him in, his head hung over his chest. But despite his injuries, you could hear the low wheezing of labored breathing — he was alive, which was something.

But it wasn’t enough. You clenched your fists, digging your nails into your palms as Rauf walked over and lifted his bloodied chin.

“The famous Jaskier. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger…but also not >:) let me know your thoughts!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What you know is not necessarily the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second to last chapter my dudes! Leggoooo

Furious couldn’t even begin to describe the way you felt.

Even though you were practically jumping out of your skin, for some reason in the moment you were paralyzed in your spot. Watching the guards grip Jaskier’s arms like he was just another piece of meat, watching Rauf roughly let go of his chin, making his head fall over his chest once more—

You wanted to pounce, but you knew you had to strategize. Acting on instinct was not the way to go right now, and you needed to keep a level head.

“I’m very happy for you company, bard, but I was having a lovely conversation with my niece. Which reminds me.” Rauf turned back to you with a knowing look. “Before you try anything, I’m going to need that knife from your boot.”

Your jaw nearly dropped to the floor. How could he have known?

Rauf laughed, ”Please. Do you really not remember who taught you that trick?”

Biting back a vicious remark, you reached down and took the knife from your boot, handing it to him with the best glare you could muster. You had never wanted to punch your uncle so badly.

He placed it gently down on his desk in the midst of unorganized papers. “Rules are made for a reason, Y/N. I thought I taught you that when you were young.”

You scoffed, “You also taught me that rules only _attempt_ to hold back those stronger than the authority that is trying to subdue them.”

Rauf nodded appreciatively, “That does sound like me, doesn’t it?”

His lighthearted tone made your stomach swirl. How could he be so casual in a situation like this? How could he pretend like nothing was wrong? 

You watched him carefully in the dimly lit room. The lantern atop his desk flickered beside him, its illumination casting shadows along his face. For a moment, you didn’t recognize him at all.

“Why are you doing this?” You said once you finally trusted your own voice.

Rauf shook his head, “Were you not listening? Consequences must be shown for your actions. We’ve all learned from our mistakes, and so should you.”

Rauf placed a hand on your shoulder once again, and you had to practically bite off the tip of your tongue so you wouldn’t push him away. His touch sent fire along your skin, but not the same as with Jaskier. This made the bones in your body tense with fury.

“Consequences for what? It wasn’t a _mistake_. I told you, he’s innocent.”You lowered your voice, “We don’t kill the innocent.”

Rauf sighed. The way he shook his head made you even more uneasy. 

You nearly stepped back,“What? What is that face for?”

Rauf clicked his tongue, “Now is the best time to break the news, I suppose.”

“What? What… _news_?” You could feel your eyes widen in anticipation. 

“The fellowship is no longer sticking to its original code.”

This time, you actually did step back, “It’s—no longer… _what_?”

“There’s a reason why we aren’t called vigilantes, Y/N.” He tilted his head slightly, “Why do you think business has been so good? Why do you think we got this new guild?”

“I—no, you didn’t—“ You brought a hand to your forehead as if that would help you collect your thoughts. All you could say was, “We…don’t kill innocents.”

Rauf’s eyes softened at the shock on your face, “Everyone has some evil in them, Y/N. We just…don’t ask what exactly that evil is anymore.”

Your heart was pounding so viciously you thought it might explode. _The fellowship is no longer sticking to its original code._ _The fellowship is no longer sticking to its original code. The fellowship is no longer sticking to its original code._ Since _when_? How long had you been kept in the dark about this change? And why had no one told you? Said _anything_?

You were staring at the floor beneath Rauf’s feet when you spoke, “How many innocents did you have me kill?”

“Would knowing really make you feel better?”

You hesitated. In all honesty, it probably wouldn’t. But your feelings didn’t matter. What mattered were the innocent lives you were possibly responsible for taking.

Your mind found itself back to your fight with Joneta. You claimed the same thing you always did, something you believed in wholeheartedly — the thing that you now knew was a lie: _We don’t kill the innocent_. And then she responded: You _don’t kill the innocent._

She knew all along. She knew that Rauf was lying to you — _had_ been lying to you, for much too long. And she didn’t even bother saying anything.

A cough interrupted your thoughts.

“Y/N?” You whipped your head to the side, where Jaskier had lifted his head to look at you. He was conscious, barely. With him looking at you face-on, you breathed a sigh of relief. They hadn’t beat him up too bad — there was blood on his skin and clothes, but only some bruising on his face. 

You sent Jaskier a look, hoping he’d get the hint to stay quiet. He did, but that didn’t stop him from glaring at the guards that held him.

Behind his glare, you could see the fear he was harboring. Seeing him like that made your blood boil.

You gritted your teeth as you turned to Rauf, “You were lying this whole time.”

“It was necessary—“

“For _who_?” You didn’t let him answer, “Lying to me made _your_ life easier. _Not_ mine.”

“There are many things that you would _thank_ me for keeping from you.”

“I highly doubt that.”

Rauf shook his head in disbelief, “I don’t understand you, Y/N. You owe nothing to this man. We _kill_ for a _living_. Innocent or not, this is how it has always been. You wouldn’t be this angry unless you—” He watched you for a moment, confusion turning to realization. “No, you don’t.”

Your chest heaved as you practically fumed in your spot, not trusting yourself to respond to his words. 

But you didn’t need to. Rauf leaned forward to look into your eyes, “You wouldn’t be this mad unless you were in love with him.”

The words sliced into you like a knife. _Love_? No. Could you? Was that why, all this time, you put so much energy into this assignment? It _definitely_ wasn’t love at first sight. It wasn’t even _like_ at first sight. You _did_ want to kill him. But over time…that changed. You cared for him unlike anyone you’d ever known. But was that the only reason this mattered to you? Because you were in love?

No. That wasn’t why. You cared about this because it was wrong. Rauf was wrong.

You moved your eyes back to Rauf, who was now standing in front of you, “I don’t have to love him to know this is _wrong_.”

“But you do.” His eyes weren’t as angry anymore — they softened as he turned away and leaned against his desk. “Love can do dangerous things, Y/N. I…I would know.”

You practically rolled your eyes. What would your uncle know about love? Besides spending nights at brothels and seducing the local farmer’s wife, Rauf didn’t have much experience with romantic relationships. And you really didn’t know if you could sit through a fleeting sob story while Jaskier practically gasped for breath.

“I’ve kept the truth from you about my past. _Your_ past.”

You frowned. What the fuck was he talking about?

“I was selfish to keep the truth from you. About everything.” He continued, “But now I see that you need to know. Especially now.”

He gestured to Jaskier, who had his head down again.

You blinked, “Know what?”

“What I told you about your parent’s death was not entirely true.”

Your whole body went stiff. It felt like the air in the room was gone; like you could practically feel the blood rushing through your body, practically feel the beat of your heart in your ears. You didn’t even know what Rauf was going to say, but you felt the urge to scream and grab Jaskier, just so you would never have to find out.

But you stayed put.

Rauf avoided your gaze. “Your mother was a kind woman. She was smart and beautiful and talented in more ways than one. She had your father’s heart, and many other men’s. Including…mine.

“My frequent visits to your village weren’t _always_ to see your father, though he was still a good friend of mine. Which made it hurt more that I fell in love with his wife."

You blinked, trying to register his words. “You and my mom…” You shook your head, “No.”

Rauf sighed, “Yes. Your father worked way overtime, and when I would visit, we would spend time together while you played outside. It’s why you never realized, I suppose.

“After a while, I knew I was in love. I wanted to be with your mother, forever, to call her my own. And your father was rarely ever home. You both could be with me, and I wouldn’t take you for granted like your father did.

“When I told your mother this…she didn’t like it. She cursed at me, told me to leave her for good. Even after what we’d been through, how much love we shared, she said she couldn’t just leave your father.”

The horror was clear on your face as you spoke, “So you killed him.”

Rauf nodded, only then meeting your gaze. When he saw the disgust on your face, he stood up from the desk with a huff, “Don’t look at me like that. Do you know what I did for you? What I had to do to teach you how to survive in a world like ours? You of all people should know how this feels. You killed your best friend for a bard that doesn’t give two shits about you.”

“Y/N, don’t listen to him—“ A gust of breath was forced out of Jaskier as the guard beside him punched him in the gut.

Rauf’s voice pulled your attention from Jaskier, “I couldn’t learn one of the most important lessons — to kill the people who love you most, before they destroy a part of you.”

Your mind was reeling. “Wait—“ You shook your head, almost not believing his words, “If my father didn’t kill my mother, and _you_ didn’t kill my mother…”

When Rauf didn’t answer, you answered for him, “My mother is _alive_?”

“Yes.”

Your eyes widened as you stepped forward, pushing against your uncle’s chest. “All these years, and my mother was alive? You…you _kidnapped_ me!”

“Y/N—“

“How dare you?” You hit him harder, but he barely moved. “How _dare_ you?”

“She wouldn’t have been able to take care of you on her own—“

“Because _you_ killed my father!” By now, you were screaming. “Do you really think you were right? That this was the best possible outcome?”

“I did what was best for _you_.” He placed his hands on your shaking shoulders, “I raised you like my own. Taught you everything I learned and didn’t learn.”

Your tone was venomous, “ _You_ still haven’t learned a _lot_.”

“And neither have you. You killed one of your own for a bard you _barely know_.” Your stomach flopped at his words, “I was always right by your side. Joneta was too. Because that is what we _do_. _That_ is the fellowship. We stick by our own. But this time…you didn’t. You turned your back — and worse, you stabbed Joneta in hers.”

You blinked incredulously, not even noticing the tears that fell down your face. Suddenly, it felt like a weight was placed on your entire body. You felt _tired_. And now, with Rauf wiping the tears from your cheeks, you felt like a little kid again. You felt…comfort, despite all the shit you just heard. It was like none of it mattered — all you could think about were Joneta’s lifeless eyes staring back at you, judging you.

Rauf spoke quietly, and for a moment, you forgot there was anyone else in the room. “I’m trying to help you not make any more mistakes, Y/N. Because I came back from mine, and I want you to come back from yours.”

You only frowned at his words, still trying to wrap your head around everything that you had just learned.

Rauf kept his hands on your shoulders when another guard burst through the door. They barely hesitated when they saw the scene before them, “Sir, someone broke into the guild. We think — we think it’s the witcher.”

Rauf’s eyes immediately found yours, a look of betrayal traced across his features. But you were too busy focusing on your racing thoughts to care.

“Take care of it,” Rauf said, turning back to his desk with a huff. The guard left, closing the door and leaving you all to stand in the air thick with tension.

But soon, Rauf broke the silence, “I want what’s best for you, Y/N. I want you to see what I am trying to tell you from my mistakes. People like this—“ He gestured to the bard, who was now pleading you with his eyes. You avoided his gaze as Rauf continued, “They only hold you back. They don’t help you. They hurt. They make you someone you aren’t. Someone you don’t recognize.

“I raised you like my own child. And every father lies to their child to protect them. And to protect you, I need you to do something, to learn what I never did.” He was in front of you now, the regret etched on his face. He took one of your hands and placed your knife’s handle in your palm, wrapping your fingers around it for you. With a short nod, he told you what he wanted you to do.

You turned towards Jaskier, who was watching you with wide eyes.

The bard wasn’t afraid. He was…sad. Tired. Pleading. His eyes reminded you of your own. _Broken_. And as you stepped toward him, you couldn’t help but think about the way he looked at you before. The smiles, the grazed touches. The fear when you first met, to the annoyance, to the pleasant smiles whenever you relented and joked with him. You had been through so much in such a short amount of time — a time that Rauf wanted you to end.

Jaskier watched you, looked over your face, over the conflicting emotions you showed with only a glance, and then he nodded. He accepted what you needed to do to him. He understood.

You blinked and gripped the knife tighter in your hand as realization took over. This wasn’t about _Jaskier_ , it was about _you_. It was always about you.

“I’m sorry,” you felt yourself saying, the pain in your voice clear.

Jaskier continued to watch you with knowing eyes — the eyes you had grown to love, the eyes you wished you would never have to live without. He fought to keep his head up, to look at you. But now, you weren’t focusing on him. Your eyes weren’t focused on anything, because they were blurred with tears. Tears for Jaskier. Tears for your uncle. Tears for yourself.

And then you plunged the knife right into his heart.

You ignored the way the warm blood seeped out of the wound and onto your hand, instead focusing on his eyes. They were wide with surprise, just as his mouth was. It was almost like he would yell at you if only he could form the words.

But you didn’t give Rauf the chance. Instead, you ripped the knife from his heart, and as he slumped to the ground, you pivoted and threw the knife to Jaskier’s left, hitting the guard right in the eye. 

But you couldn’t focus on that victory. Instead, the other guard was coming towards you now, abandoning Jaskier, who leaned against a nearby wall. Your knife being stuck in the first guard’s eye left you weaponless, so you grabbed the closest thing. 

You smashed the lantern from Rauf’s desk into the bigger man’s head — he was barely fazed. He launched at you, reaching his hands towards your neck. Despite the pain in your leg, you dodged his attack, slipping under his arms and landing just beside him. As he nearly fell into the desk that was behind you, you took advantage of his disorientation — with one swift movement, you kicked your good leg into the back of his knee, causing him to fall to the ground. Without hesitating, you grabbed the back of his head by his hair and smashed it into the edge of the wooden desk, once, twice, three times, until his face was unrecognizable. Then, you smashed it again for good luck. 

With heaving breaths, you turned towards Rauf, who lay on the floor with his eyes glazed over. It looked like there was a small flicker of light in his eyes still; his mouth was slightly agape in surprise, and you almost felt like he would say something.

Your heart clenched at the sight of your uncle, but the feeling was quickly replaced with anger. He killed your father. He took you from your mother. Kidnapped you. Turned you into a monster. You were about to walk over and kick his defenseless body when he spoke.

“Y/N?” You frowned. The voice was full of fear, but it wasn’t Rauf’s. You snapped your head back to where Jaskier was leaning a hand against the door. His other hand was clutching his stomach — but it was covered in blood.

“Julian?” Your voice felt distant as you ran just in time to catch him from hitting the ground. You lowered him slowly, trying to balance him in your shaky hands. “No. _No_ , Julian.”

He frowned, as if confused at the pain he felt.

“Jaskier don’t you fucking dare, you hear me?” You ripped the edge of your shirt and tried to tie it around his waist, but it wasn’t long enough. “You weren’t supposed to — _shit._ ”

Ignoring the way your body shook, you crawled over to the dead guard and ripped the pants from his legs. Your hands were shaking, but you managed to get the fabric wrapped around Jaskier pretty quickly.

“Why did you take the knife out? Who even stabbed you? _Fuck_.” There was so much blood. It was all over your hands, already seeping through the makeshift wrapping. You didn’t know what to do. _You didn’t know what to do_.

“Y/N.” Your wild eyes met Jaskier’s — he was losing consciousness, but his mouth was open like he wanted to speak. You did the first thing you could think of.

You slapped him across the face, not too hard, and his eyes widened in confusion. “ _Sorry_ , sorry. But you have to stay awake. You can’t leave me.”

You let your hand rest against his cheek, nearly melting at the way he leaned into your touch. You kept your other hand on his wound, despite the blood coating your fingers.

“I’m not going to leave you, darling.” He reached up and wiped a tear from your face. “I want to kiss you,” he said, but all you could see was the fading in his eyes, the clouds that began to form over his blue orbs.

“No. No—“ You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his. Warmth erupted in your chest, battling with the fire that spilled from your veins. Jaskier’s fingers threaded into your hair, grazing your scalp as his lips moved with your own. But almost as soon as he responded, his motions went still. You pulled back, watching his hand fall from your head.

“No, no, no Julian wake _up_ —"

The door swung open, but you didn’t bother looking up from Jaskier’s face. You moved your hand from the side of his face, pressing it against the wound on his stomach. The taste of his lips lingered on your own as you screamed in distress, watching the tears from your face fall onto your blood-covered hands.

Geralt kneeled down on the opposite side of Jaskier’s body.

“He’s not dead. He’s _not dead_ , Geralt—“

Geralt nodded, “No, he isn’t. But his heartbeat is slowing.” Clearly, his words didn’t calm you. You choked on a sob, shaking your head as you pressed your hands harder into the wound. “Y/N, listen to me. I know someone who can help him, but we have to go now. You have to trust me.”

You looked back at the witcher, not bothering to wipe away your painful tears. Moving Jaskier was a risk, but leaving him there was an even bigger one.

With one last sob, you nodded your head and let the witcher pick him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :))))) sorry :)))


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of one journey just leads to the beginning of another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh!!! This is the last chapter of the first installment to the Kill Your Darlings series! There’s another note at the end of the chapter, but thank you all for reading and following along this journey!

Days. It had been days since that night, but to you, it felt like an eternity. You barely got any sleep. Barely ate. But today, you forced each foot ahead, one step at a time. You couldn’t afford to wallow any longer. You had to do this.

You mindlessly followed the guards further towards his office, your expression stone cold like the walls around you.

They gestured you into the office not dissimilar to Rauf’s. It nearly made you shudder.

“Hello again,” he said, smiling as he stood up to greet you. “It has been too long.”

“Arnet. It’s good to see you.” You forced a smile for the man. It made every muscle in your body want to react, to attack the guild and lash out on anyone who stood in your way. But you knew if you did that, you’d be good as dead. And right now, you needed to be strong. For him.

The man in front of you smiled, “I last saw you when you were very young. Look at you now.” Arnet’s old eyes crinkled more at the edges, despite the wrinkles that had already formed there.

He was much older than Rauf was, but just from meeting him as a child, you could see why they were friends. They had similar humor, similar charm — though now, Arnet was much more of a humble grandfather type.

Looking at him again after all this time, the blood in your veins heated once more. How could these people you had known for so long be just as bad as the monsters you trained yourself to hate?

Arnet smiled again, “Please, have a seat.”

Your body pushed itself down into the chair across from Arnet’s. Though his office reminded you of Rauf’s, it was definitely bigger, more welcoming. At least, as welcoming as an assassin leader’s guild office could be.

After another moment, Arnet spoke, “You have suffered a great loss, child.”

“As did you.”

He nodded, watching you with careful eyes. “But I cannot imagine the pain _you_ must be going through. You must know your uncle was strong, but he was not invincible.”

“He taught me from a young age that death was not something to agonize over. It happens to everyone.”

“Yes, but not always so brutally.” He shifted in his seat, “We evoke death for a living, but when it is one of our own, it is very, very different.”

You nodded your head, but inside, you were screaming. _Just because you don’t know someone does not mean their life is not meaningful. Just because Rauf was my uncle doesn’t mean he was a good person._

Arnet probably took your silence as grief. He probably saw you as a poor innocent child who had lost a loved one. But really, all you could feel was anger.

He continued, “As you know, I sent some of my guild to take care of everything at the fellowship. I’m afraid no one made it out of there alive.”

You nearly sighed in relief. No chance of being outed. No loose ends.

Arnet rose from his seat and walked to his desk, picking up a leather satchel. He turned to you, holding out the bag with a nod.

“Rauf’s papers, contacts…they are all here. I thought you might want them.”

You dropped your facade for a moment, allowing yourself to frown, “Why?”

“Your uncle was murdered in cold blood. I…can imagine the thirst for revenge you must be feeling. To find who did this.”

 _Who did this_. The memory of Rauf’s blood over your hands, his flesh beneath your blade, flashed before your eyes.

You swallowed the truth and took the satchel from his hands. “Right. Thank you.”

As you stood up from the seat, Arnet placed a hand on your shoulder, “You are welcome to this guild, Y/N. Whenever you are ready.”

“Thank you, truly, but…” you gestured to the bag, though your intentions were very different from what Arnet assumed. “I think I’ll go on my own for a while.”

Arnet’s smile made your stomach churn. “Your uncle would be proud.”

You swallowed your scoff and nodded.

—

As soon as you walked through the door, Geralt’s figure emerged from the back room. “You’re back.”

You nodded, trying to hide the way you wanted to rush past him, “I am.”

“What did he say?”

Geralt’s eagerness wasn’t surprising. He knew you were going to meet Arnet, to make sure he wasn’t suspicious of anything that happened that night at the guild — in fact, he encouraged it, and was nearly pushing you out the door mere hours ago.

You opened your mouth to answer him, but as soon as you did, the woman appeared out of the same back room.

Yennefer, you had learned, was a mage — a powerful one, at that. She was the one Geralt took you and Jaskier to that night, the one who let you stay in this very building. It was a home on the quiet side of Novigrad; _a friend’s place_ , she had said. You weren’t sure what that meant, but you didn’t care. You also didn’t care how Geralt knew exactly where she was, because the witcher’s personal business was _definitely_ not something you wanted to dwell on. The looks she and Geralt shared were also not something you paid much attention to, though they were very hard to miss. Geralt seemed to trust her, wholeheartedly, and that was enough for you to keep your mouth shut.

But that didn’t mean _you_ trusted her.

So, at the knowledge of her presence, you shrugged. “I dealt with it.”

“Hm.” Geralt only nodded, his face as unreadable as usual.

Turning towards the sorceress, you cleared your throat, “How is he?”

She lifted her chin, “He’s recovering very well, actually. Considering.” She nodded in thought, “You’re definitely lucky that I happened to be in town.”

She gestured towards the back room with a specific tone, “You can go in now.”

The suggestion in her voice was enough to make heat rise on your skin, but you ignored it as best you could as you slipped past the two and into the room.

There, just as he was before, was Jaskier. Every time you came in the room you fooled yourself into thinking he looked better, but this time, you were sure it was true. His skin had gained some color back, but not much. You walked to the side of his bed, where the chair you had practically lived in for the past few days waited for you.

As you sat down, you couldn’t help but place a hand over his, as if doing so would wake him up sooner. But you knew that was a long shot.

Instead, you unhooked your cloak from your neck and settled back into the seat, keeping your eyes on the unconscious man before you.

—

_You were in the forest._

_Dirt was all over your hands, under your nails, almost painted to your skin. Something about this place was so generic, but so familiar._

_It was when you turned around that you realized you were at Joneta’s grave. Only, the grave was open, with no body inside. You stepped forward, making sure your eyes weren’t deceiving you. But as you did, a hand grabbed your shoulder and turned you around._

_“Joneta?” You spoke, but her smile practically made your teeth clatter. You reached out to her, but she grabbed your wrist and pushed you back, making you fall into the grave that was meant for her. But instead of feeling your back hit the ground below, you just fell deeper and deeper into the earth, dirt slowly covering your body and weighing over you, suffocating you._

_And then you opened your eyes to a large field. A man stood in front of you, and after a moment you recognized him just from the back of his head._

_It was Rauf. At first, you felt relieved, almost walked forward. But then you saw the knife in his hand._ Your _knife._

_He turned around slowly, agonizingly slowly, until he was facing you. His charming smiled filled his face, but his eyes were wide, glazed over — dead. Your knife was dripping with what you thought was his blood, but there was no wound on his body. Rauf smile wider and stepped aside, revealing Jaskier, whose blood seeped out underneath him around his already dead body._

_—_

You bolted up in your spot, eyes shooting open in fear. You hadn’t been sleeping much, but when you did, it was always the same dream.

You sighed, immediately darting your eyes to the man in front of you. He was in the same position, his eyes still closed, his breath still shallow.

As you looked down at him, you thought back to that night.

You thought of the bodies scattered around the guild as you followed Geralt. The weapons that were scattered on the ground, covered in blood. You thought of Rauf’s eyes. Cold. Dead.

You shook away the memories, grabbing the knives from your sheaths and sharpening them. You hoped busying your hands would keep your mind occupied as well.

It didn’t.

Your mind immediately drifted to the lies you had been told. Who knew how many innocent people you had killed, how many people that begged for their life, how many people that your knives had been thrust into, over and over, until they choked on their own blood?

And your mother. All your life you thought she was dead. You thought she was murdered by your father, but really…she was out there somewhere, alive. Unless she died afterward. Unless she was swallowed by her own grief of losing you and your father. Or she could have been killed by a beast, or a bandit, or another assassin. Just because Rauf left her alive didn’t mean that she was now.

Rauf. He did this. He ruined your mother’s life — _your_ life. Who knew where you could have been if not for his selfishness?

You slammed the knife on the bedside table and snatched your cloak from the back of your chair, immediately finding the place where your fellowship patch was sewed into the fabric. Now that everything was cleared up with Arnet, and the fellowship was killed off, you didn’t need it anymore. You didn’t need to feel that weight anymore, to have that stain, that reminder, any longer. With no more hesitation, you ripped the patch from your cloak, dropping it to the floor as soon as it was detached.

But it didn’t make you feel better. You sat back in your chair, breathing heavily from your distress. In this moment of uncertainty, you let your eyes fall back to Jaskier, who still lay peacefully in the bed.

You just wanted him to wake up. To make sure he was okay. Maybe then, all of this would be worth it.

“Am I interrupting something?”

You jumped at the woman beside you, cursing yourself for not noticing her enter the room. The lack of sleep must have really been affecting you.

You grumbled your response as you shoved the cloak back over your chair, “I’m fine.”

She nodded, even though she knew you weren’t. You moved to get up, but she held up a hand.

“No need. I just came to see if he woke up.”

With a sigh, you turned back to Jaskier. In the small amount of time you hadn’t been looking at him, it still disappointed you that he wasn’t awake yet. Fear spiked in you at the thought of him never waking up, never recovering.

But then Yennefer spoke, “He’ll wake up soon. I was never much of a healer, but I know some tricks.” She sighed,“They don’t call me a sorceress for nothing.”

The smile on her face made you relax slightly, nodding your head with a deep breath. Seemingly satisfied, she made her way back towards the door, but your voice stopped her, “Thank you.”

She didn’t respond before she left.

—

You were nearly asleep when you heard a groan.

Your head shot up from the side of the bed where it had been resting, eyes focusing on the man beside you.

Jaskier’s lips barely moved, “ _Fuck._ ”

You immediately sat up, reaching your hand towards his. But you stopped yourself, instead blinking to make sure this wasn’t a dream.

Your voice was quiet, “Jaskier? Are you awake?”

You held your breath in the silence.

“Unfortunately.”

“Holy shit.” You couldn’t help but laugh, a smile falling naturally to your lips as Jaskier opened his eyes one at a time. He was frowning, but once he saw you, his features softened.

“What happened? Where…where are we?”

You couldn’t help how your words were practically spilling out of you, “We’re in Novigrad. You were stabbed. Yennefer helped heal you—“

Jaskier blinked, “Woah, woah, wait. _Yennefer_ is here? I—I was _sta_ —” He moved to sit up, but immediately cringed in pain.

You instinctively reached forward, your eyes nearly wild, “I should get Yennefer—“

“No.” He grabbed your hand, holding you in your spot. “I’m okay. You can get her in a bit.”

You nodded; your heart was bursting against your chest. You almost couldn’t believe he was awake, in front of you. You lowered yourself back into the seat, suddenly feeling self conscious. You had been waiting there for so long, beside him, but now that he was awake, you felt…awkward.

“Are you…feeling okay?” You said, immediately feeling lame. If Jaskier noticed, he didn’t say anything. He only shrugged.

“I don’t know. I was…stabbed, right? By who?”

“You tell me.”

At this point, you still didn’t know. Your best guess was that one of the guards stabbed him before you brutally ended their life. If you knew which one it was, you would have reacted way crueler.

Jaskier only blinked, a frown settling on his face, “I don’t…remember much.”

You felt your stomach drop. You should’ve known he would have some memory blockage, especially after such a traumatic event. But if he didn’t remember who stabbed him, did he not remember…

Licking your lips and taking a deep breath, you shook the thought away, “Well, what matters is that you’re not dead.”

Despite the clear traces of fatigue in his features, your blunt words made him smirk, “I didn’t know you cared that much about my life. Seems like not long ago you had your knife to my throat.”

You scoffed, “Then you must’ve forgotten all the time I spent making sure you continued to breathe.”

“Or the days you helplessly crumbled beneath my unearthly charm."

You couldn’t hide the heat rising to your face, but still, you narrowed your eyes, “Watch it, bard.”

“Oh, we’re back to _bard_ now?” Jaskier smirked, the playful glint in his eye making your heart flutter from the familiarity.

You couldn’t escape the urge to smile. Even though he hadn’t been unconscious for that long, you missed him so much. For a moment, the two of you grinned at each other like nothing in the past had happened, like you hadn’t endured all of the struggles and heartbreak and anguish. But as quickly as the moment was there, it was fading.

Jaskier’s eyes were drooping.

“You should rest,” you said, placing your hand over his as his eyes closed from the inescapable exhaustion. He hummed in agreement, and, before he fell into a slumber, he flipped his hand over so he was taking hold of your hand in his own.

—

The next few hours were a bit crazy.

Jaskier was waking up more and more frequently. As soon as he did, Yennefer would force him to drink what she claimed would ‘help speed up the healing’ — whatever that meant. Every time, Jaskier would moan and groan, but he would drink it, and then fall asleep soon after. The whole time, you didn’t even think about leaving his side.

He was asleep again, the cup on the bedside table abandoned once his eyes began falling upon themselves. You watched his face as he slept, biting your lip as you watched his eyes flick underneath his lids.

You couldn’t help but think about that night again. The pain in Jaskier’s eyes, the sadness. The way he looked at you and expected you to kill him like your uncle wanted you to. His acceptance of his fate, his unquestioning loyalty to what he thought you needed.

And then his blood.

“Y/N.” You blinked away the thoughts, pushing yourself forward in your chair as Jaskier woke up once again. You hadn't even realized how long you had been sitting there thinking, but it must have been a while. Jaskier looked at you, searching your face with a look close to realization, “I had the strangest dream.”

You patted his arm, “I’ll go get Yennefer.”

“No. Stay.”

Taking a shaky breath, you looked back at him carefully. His voice was laced with nothing short of…neediness.

Noticing your worried expression, he scoffed. “I can’t have her bring me another one of those awful drinks. Not yet.”

You snorted as you sat back down, “Those drinks are helping you _heal_.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” His pout slowly disappeared as he squinted at you, “How are you?”

“How am _I_? You got _stabbed_.”

He waved you off, “Just another feat of adventure.” He tilted his head, “I must’ve looked pretty brave with a knife in my stomach.”

“Not really.” You laughed off his glare, “It wasn’t even _in_ your stomach. You must have pulled it out right after.”

Jaskier pursed his lips, “That’s no fun.”

“Tell me about it.” You turned away when you caught Jaskier’s eyes. It was a look you had been dreading, a look that meant he wanted to ask you about it.

And he did.

“So…what _did_ happen?”

You took a sharp breath in, “You got _caught_ by the guild.”

He scoffed, “I’m surprised it took them that long. I wasn’t exactly _sneaking_.”

“You remember— wait.” You shook your head, irritation already lacing your voice, “You were _trying_ to get them to catch you?”

Jaskier sighed, “I couldn’t let you go in there alone. Not that I don’t think you’re capable, but…I needed to see for myself.” He ignored the surprise on your face, “Besides, I knew Geralt would come running once he noticed I was gone.”

You would’ve hit him if he wasn’t already injured.

Instead, you look at him in disbelief, “You could’ve gotten yourself _killed_.”

“Almost did.” He gestured to the bandage around his stomach, “And it was worth it.”

For a moment, you thought your eyes were deceiving you. Because right after he said that, he let his eyes trail downward, settling on your lips. Your smile dropped instantly, but you couldn’t bring the words out to question what he meant. Or if you were imagining it.

The memory of his lips on yours was interrupted by the creak of the door.

Yennefer’s smirk was not hidden, “Sorry to break this lovely chat up, but Jaskier needs his daily dose of—what did you call it?”

“Atrocious torture juice.” Yennefer quirked a brow at him. He smiled with false sweetness as she placed it on the bedside table. “Thank you, _sorceress_.”

“You’re welcome, _human_.”

Jaskier took the smallest sip he possibly could while Yennefer was still in the room. As soon as she left, he put the cup back down.

You gave him a warning glance, “Jaskier—“

“I know. I’ll drink it later.” You rolled your eyes, but he continued, “So, your guild leader…he’s dead?”

Your gaze fell from his face and down to your hands, “Yeah. I…killed him.” You bit your lip, trying to find the right words, “It wasn’t easy. But I would do it again.” _For you_. But you didn’t say that.

When Jaskier only studied your face, you felt like you had to explain more. In all honesty, you were kind of glad. You had been bottling all of this up for the past few days, and though that had worked for you before, it didn’t now. Now, you _wanted_ to tell Jaskier. You wanted to tell him everything.

So you did.

“I keep dreaming about him. Seeing his face. His smile. But his eyes are what really haunt me.” You paused and took a deep breath before continuing, “Rauf…he had been disappointed in me before. He had been furious. I can’t _count_ how many times he screamed in my face. But never, ever, had he looked at me with such…disgust.

“My uncle betrayed me first. I should be angrier with him. I should feel the disgust he felt for me. But I can’t get his look of betrayal out of my mind.”

“Wait.” Jaskier’s face was scrunched into a frown, “Your _uncle_ was the guild leader?”

Despite the circumstances, you smiled softly, “You really don’t remember anything, do you?”

Jaskier shook his head, “Must be all the rank potions Yennefer has been forcing me to endure.”

“Hm.” You looked away, feeling your heart clench. If he really didn’t remember anything…well, maybe it was for the better.

“I do remember _some_ stuff.” You shifted your gaze back to him, taking in a sharp breath at the way his eyes pierced your own. “I remember you calling my name. You never really said it before.”

You frowned, “I—what? I must have.”

Jaskier shook his head, “Not like that.”

“Like what?”

He took a moment, trying to find the right word, “Desperate.”

Your mouth was dry as he looked at you, a mix of curiosity and amusement in his eyes. Something tugged in your chest just then — hope. Hope that he remembered the thing you could barely keep your mind off of.

Your voice was nearly a whisper, “What else do you remember?”

In the most unfortunate timing, the door to the room swung open.

“Geralt.” Jaskier addressed the witcher as he stepped in the room, “Did I ever tell you what _wonderful_ timing you have?”

“Hm.” Geralt looked between you two, finally settling on the bard. “How are you feeling.”

“Just fantastic.” Jaskier’s sarcastic tone was drowned by the sip of the ‘atrocious torture juice’ he forced himself to drink. After a moment of disgusted expressions, he spoke, “So, Geralt. Where to next?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but Geralt beat you to it, “We should stay in Novigrad a while, until you heal.”

“ _Bollocks_. Novigrad is boring, full of people who are too conceited to see past their own eyelids.” You couldn’t help but snort at his words, making him look over to you. “Well, where do you think we should go?”

You looked to Geralt, then back to Jaskier, “Me?”

“Um, precisely you, yes.”

You blinked, unable to respond. To be honest, you didn’t think you were apart of that ‘we’. In reality, you had only met the two quite recently. But now, practically everything had fallen out underneath you. Your guild, your uncle — if not with them, where else would you go?

Jaskier interrupted your thoughts with a groan, “Please don’t say you know two other handsome men looking for a third travel companion.” Before you could respond, he jutted his chin towards the witcher, “Look, Geralt is capable and all, but even _he_ slacks sometimes.”

You raised your eyebrows at Geralt, who responded with a grunt.

“Convincing.” You rolled your eyes and turned back to the bard, whose eyes were twinkling with excitement.

“Come on. Consider this your… _formal invitation_ to journey with us. What do you say?”

You took a deep breath through your nose, letting the smile play on your lips, “I don’t think you two will make it very much longer on your own.”

Jaskier grinned, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHHHH That’s the end of Kill Your Darlings! It has been such a ride and I thank anyone and everyone who read this, and especially those who reblogged/commented! I am planning a second series with the same reader character/background, but it will take a bit for me to really figure out the story etc so keep an eye out! I’ll post an update on Tumblr closer to when I will start posting that series :)  
> Thank you again everyone and I hope you enjoyed this series as much as I did!


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